


Inhale

by ellestoyl



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actors, Actresses - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anal Sex, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fame, Famous people, Fluff, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Making Love, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paparazzi, Peter Hale as Derek's brother, Publicity, Pydia, Romance, Scratching, Sex, Sneaking Around, Social Media, Steamy, Sterek fanfiction, Stydia, Teen wolf fanfic, Total Film Magazine, Wealth, intimate, sterek, sterek fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellestoyl/pseuds/ellestoyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr. Stilinski.” Mister?<br/>I didn’t know it was this formal around here. If I knew, I would’ve definitely packed my black suit with me.<br/>“Mr. Hale will see you now. Please do follow me,” she smiles politely before she walks past me and I follow her lead as if a dog on leash.<br/>Her heels click against the tiled floor, and I can’t help it but to peek at her behind. Just for a slight second.<br/>“You’ll have ten minutes,” she opens a door and nods, which I assume was some sort of gesture for me to enter. And doing so, I tilt my gaze up from the floor freeze by the sight of the tall man.<br/>He’s standing in front of the fireplace; his back facing me and hand holding around his wrist.<br/>I gulp and I walk slowly, but apparently one step was enough for him to turn around. I meet his hazel eyes, and he blinks as if surprised.<br/>“Good afternoon."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inhale will be a work of fiction. With other words; events, organizations and locations on this fanfic will be products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Most of the characters will as well be used fictitiously to fit the storyline, but are originally based from the supernatural series called, Teen Wolf.
> 
> Please excuse any errors that hasn't been detected and corrected.  
> Without further due. Lean back, have a tea (or coffee, even warm cocoa if you wish) and enjoy. 
> 
> All rights reserved © 2014 by Elle Støyl

I take a deep intake of breath, frowning to the boy in front of me. He was frowning as bad in return, big brown eyed and pale.

I lean forward and over the sink to mess my brown hair onto place with my skinny long fingers.

“Ok. You can do this, Stiles. I’m counting you. What’s the worst thing that can happen, right?” I try to be optimistic about it, but by the look at myself - the self-doubt oozing from my eyes - the words just felt dry against my tongue.

I sigh.

“Just act cool, and do what you’ve done many times before. It’s going to be fine, I’m sure of it,” I make another effort to convince myself that all my fear and dread was nothing but imaginary. But then… Who am I to fool? I’m probably the most wretched liar on earth. Lying to myself and believing it would only prove that I’m the dumbest person as well.

I lick briefly across my lips and look at myself for a couple more seconds before I grab my shoulder bag and stroll out of the toilet, admiring the environment.

_The Ty Warner Penthouse suite at Four Seasons Hotel is really something._

By the time I’ve located the foyer to the enormously modern suite, I find myself completely alone. It was like two female journalists waiting with me before I left. Did I spend that much time on the toilet?

I made a goal to the chair by the door, but went a detour on my way, looking at the decorations such as the paintings on the walls.

Absently, I wonder how he’s like.

Derek Hale…

I can’t believe I’m about to meet him in person. Sure I’ve read public records and articles through the years, but everyone knows media isn’t a reliable source when it comes to how and who the person really _is._

Some people are pictured a lot better than they are. Other’s the complete opposite, which is pity. I don’t know who and how Derek Hale really is since the media has pictured him as an untouchable person - like some sort of Greek God on human soil…

He made a huge hit on his first movie at age 17. Since, he’s been homeschooled while making other movies, building his fame along with his knowledge. After he graduated at age 21, his fame literally exploded and so did the females as he finally went out on the public streets. However, Derek is like one of the most famous people alive in the 201st decade.

He’s an actor, part time model, author, and an artist… All the ladies are head on heels when it comes to this guy. Males even.

I was just about to take my seat when the assistant enters the room and escorts one of the journalists to the door.

I swallow a cube of ice down my throat as I straighten up my back and clear my throat.

She was blonde, tall, slender and professionally attired in a white dress that formed her body. It’s like she’s been picked out of the Victoria’s Secret model crew. I feel immediately underdressed. I’m wearing a pair of white jeans and a light blue shirt I bought yesterday at Ralph Lauren.

“Mr. Stilinski.” _Mister?_

I didn’t know it was this formal around here. If I knew, I would’ve definitely packed my black suit with me.

“Mr. Hale will see you now. Please do follow me,” she smiles politely before she walks past me and I follow her lead as if a dog on leash.

Her heels click against the tiled floor, and I can’t help it but to peek at her behind. Just for a slight second.

“You’ll have ten minutes,” she opens a door and nods, which I assume was some sort of gesture for me to enter. And doing so, I tilt my gaze up from the floor freeze by the sight of the tall man.

He’s standing in front of the fireplace; his back facing me and hand holding around his wrist.

I gulp and I walk slowly, but apparently one step was enough for him to turn around. I meet his hazel eyes, and he blinks as if surprised.

“Good afternoon,” his dark voice roams the room as he elegantly approaches one of the sleek cream-colored couches.

He’s even better live than in photos – even the photoshoped ones.

He’s dressed in a fine black suit, white shirt and black tie. He had a narrow jaw adorned by stubbles, prominent cheekbones, straight nose and hooded hazel eyes by strong dark brows with unruly black hair. I then realize I’m practically staring and look around the room instead.

I suppose this was the living room.

“Please, take a seat,” he gestures to the couch across the one he was standing in front of.

I do so what I’m told and approach him. And before I take my seat, he extents his hand to greet, and so I touch the untouchable man for the very first time.

“Good afternoon, I’m Stiles Stilinski from Total Films magazine. Thank you for taking time to this interview Mr. Hale.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he smiles; his eyes never seem to leave mine as we both sit down.

Can someone really look like this? I’m a male, but even I think he’s a little too attractive for a man to be.

As if in rush, I break the eye contact between us and delve into my bag for my notebook and digital recorder.

He shifts on the couch, placing one leg over his knee and leans back to the couch ridge, waiting patiently.

“Take all the time you need, Mr. Stilinski,” he chuckles. He sounds amused. Maybe he has noticed that I’m nervous? But is that even weird? Like, has he seen himself? I mean… Does he know who he is?

I keep searching for a pen, and scowl at myself. I only have ten minutes, probably eight now. And I’m wasting it to find a goddamn pen that isn’t in my bag.

I bite my lower lip and look up. He’s been watching me intently all this time; his hazel eyes changes into darker shades.

“Are you looking for something to write with?” he asks, as if he could read my thoughts. I let my lip go from the torture of my teeth and apologetically smile.

“Please.” I nod.

He smiles warmly as he obtains something inside his black blazer to later on pull out a black and golden pen. He leans over and hands it to me before he leans back to his former posture.

“Thank you.”

How can he be so calm? I on the other hand… I feel the blood rush through my veins, causing my body temperature to increase. I’m quite energetic though, but this is his affect on me.

Wait… _His_ affect on _me_? I shake my head.

It must be the heat. The flames right beside me don’t really help me a lot.

I pull a breath and roll my shoulders to calm down. I then take the recorder and look at him.

_Jeez. Is he even real? No flaws at all._

“Ehrm… Would you mind if I record this?”

 He waves his hand to the coffee table between us; I assume it was some sort of a gesture for, “go ahead.”

I chew on my lip nervously as I place the recorder on glass table between us. I already just want this over with.

“I’m sorry for taking such a long time.”

“There’s no rush Mr. Stilinski.”

_Yeah right… I have seven-six minutes to do this interview._

I open my notebook, scrolling past pages to my questions.

“Have you been offered any refreshments?”

I look up absently.

“Hm?”

_You heard him perfectly fine, numskull._

“Oh… Uhm. No?”

“Have you not?” he sounds aghast. Kind of looked liked it too. “Hm... Can I offer you anything then?” He doesn’t sound pleased. He shifts on his seat to stand up, but I stutter, making him stop.

“No, no. I’m good, thank you.”

He’s eyeing me.

“You sure?” I nod. “Not even water? You seem dehydrated. If it’s too warm for you, we could find a better place to do the interview?”

I shake my head. “I’d just like to ask you some questions, Mr. Hale,” I emphasize by holding up my notebook while his face takes a dramatic turn from concerned to dead serious, disappointed even.

“I thought you might.” His voice is cut. _Uh-oh._ I believe that’s not a good sign…

I suck a sharp breath. To intimidated to speak, I can’t find my voice and clear my throat instead. Silence has wrapped around us like silk, and I feel suffocated by both the heat and his gaze.

I start the recorder and look down to my notebook.

“So… You’ve been recently crowned as the sexiest man alive, what do you feel about that?”

“Well, what is there to say? I’m flattered and grateful that people think such about me.”

“Do you think you’re…” I trail out, hoping he would get the cue. I’ve never really liked the word. It’s just stupid I know, and so is this question. Why did I write this down?

“…sexy,” I mumble.

“If I believe I’m the sexiest man alive?” He arches a brow. “No, I think no one should think of themselves like that.”

“How would you describe yourself then?”

“I’m just a man, Mr. Stilinski. Nothing more, nothing less.” I smile at his response, although he obviously is the hottest guy in the block, and more than just a man, but a super famous one.

I move on to another topic.

“Regarding to your latest movie that has recently come out to the big screens…”

“Yes, Transformer five.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the criticism about this movie. Many are directed to your character being the new Sam? Do you have anything to say about it or to the haters?”

“I do get their point, and if I wasn’t offered the role as Miguel, I would probably be one of them.”

“Why is that?”

He shifts and leans over to his lap, resting his chin against his hand, stroking his stubble. He seems to be deep in thought.

“I guess, when you’ve followed the series from the start you get into the relationships as they grow stronger throughout the movies - such as the one between Sam and Bumblebee, which also is most of the criticism is about. You get quite attached to the characters. And without any good closer, you’re just left hanging and forced to move on. Some don’t approve it obviously. But in the other way around, I think it was good to have something new and fresh. And if not, my character wouldn’t be made and I wouldn’t be able to play it.”

I note down before I continue.

“Usually there’s a girl involved, but you didn’t get a girl, did you?”

He chuckles softly. “No, I didn’t get a girl,” the corner of his lip lifts a slight. I keep watching him, waiting for him to spill out some more. “I kind of liked that about this movie though. It would’ve been a cliché.”

“You don’t like romance?”

“I do, don’t take me wrong. But it does get old sometimes, especially when it comes to action movies. It’s always the same, and if I’m to do romance, I’d like it with passion and depth,” he says, eyes never leaving mine.

And for some unexplainable reason, I find myself blushing. I look down, trying to collect my scattered equilibrium.

“So what made you take the role as Miguel?”

“I thought it was interesting that the movie was different than the previous ones. It was about more than just to get the girl and save the world. The movie went deep into bonding, trust and friendship. And I thought it had a good message behind it.”

“How was it to film the movie?”

“It was a very fun experience. Some of it was quite new to me.”

“You have also another movie coming out soon. The one called The District, if I’m not mistaken. Are you looking forward to it?”

“I am. The premier is in LA, next week. I’m very excited to see the final product. I’ve only seen a couple of scenes from it; some might not even be in the movie. But I think it’ll surprise people.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s quite unique,” he nibbles his bottom lip and plays with it with his thumb and forefinger.

I try to look elsewhere, but his mouth just keeps drawing my eyes. I then meet his dark and intimidating eyes, shaking me off from ogling.

“Erhm… Is it true that you haven’t gone to a vacation in over five years?”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” He shrugs uncommittedly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought of it. I like what I do, and I get enough time to spend between movies so I haven’t really had use for it or a reason to take a time off.”

“Wouldn’t having a relationship be a good reason?”

“I suppose,” he looks at me warily, trying to figure where I was heading with this. He leans back and rests his arm along the couch ridge.

“So maybe if you’ve taken time to work out your previous ones, it would’ve last?”

I purse my lips into a fine line at once.

_Oh no you just didn’t say that…_

“Maybe you’re right, Mr. Stilinski. But you can also be wrong. Sometimes people are just not meant to be with each other despite how much one wants it to work,” he says softly, and I dare to look him in the eye, but he’s giving nothing away.

“You believe in true love?”

“I do make a lot of romantic films… So I must believe in something,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his green-hazel eyes.

I take a moment to write a note.

“What about family?” I mumble out.

“What about them?”

“Don’t you miss them working this hard?”

His smile is long gone. “As I said, I do get time to spend behind the screen,” he says flatly, I look down to take a note. He doesn’t seem to like this subject. I wonder why? It’s told he’s quite a family guy.

I let go of the topic and write another note inside a bubble: _Mood swings._

“What about your modeling career? Doesn’t that occupy a lot of your time?”

“No. I don’t do shoots as much as I used to. I’ve put my career as a model aside.”

“And why is that?”

“I prefer acting,” he says shortly.

“What about your career as an artist?”

“I see it more like a hobby.”

“Are you currently working on something?”

“No.”

Why is he so clipped all a sudden? Have I offended him in some way?

I look at my notes and dwell before I decide to go beside my noted questions.

 “So… What do you like to spend your free time to - besides your family, Mr. Hale?”

His expression seems to soften. “I like to do a lot of things.”

“Such as?” I can see a ghost of a smile on his face. He seems to be amused again. That’s good, considering he really frightens me otherwise.

“Go off to the seas, golf… It all depends. Sometimes I like to be left alone, which is when I take my boat. Others, I like to spend a night out with some friends.”

“Depending on your mood now, what would you like to do?” the question leaks out my mouth.

He cocks his head to one side and smirks. I then realize how cheeky that sounded, and if you were one to twist words and such - it would definitely sound wrong. I try to eliminate my smile, but don’t succeed. I chuckle and shake my head.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” He laughs along.

“I’m fine with what I’m doing right now.”

I blush mortified.

“What about you, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Me?” _Yes you. Who else is around?_

“What do you like to do?”

“Nothing really.”

“Nothing? You must like to do something,” he arches a brow.

“Ehr... I like to read,” I say carefully.

“What kind of books do you prefer?”

I shrug and try to be nonchalant.

“I like everything that catches me.”

“Catches you,” he repeats my words as if he’s noting it down to himself. He then smiles at me as something dark flickers from his eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking. This man is a mystery to me. I then remember he’s an author himself. What a shame I haven’t read his book. I wonder if it’s good. It was one of the bestsellers years ago, so it probably is. I wonder…

“Are you thinking of making another book?”

“I’ve thought of it a lot, but nothing has really inspired me to start.”

“Oh...” Clueless what to ask next, I look down my notebook.

“A question all your female fans are dying to find out,” I introduce him to my next question. “Do you have your eyes on someone?”

“I’m currently having them on you, Stiles.” I look up at him: his eyes drilling into mine. Blood drains from my head and I gulp.

_What?_

“But I assume you’re referring to something more, so my answer will be no.”

I pull a breath in relief, but some of the air remains stuck in my chest as if disappointed to his answer. I take a note.

Disturbed by a sudden knock, the door opens and the blonde assistant enters, a shade of pink paints the apple of her cheeks.

“I hate to interrupt Mr. Hale, but the time is up.”

_Already?_

My stomach clenches, and I feel a sudden struggle to leave.

I guess I’m just not satisfied with what I’ve got out of him yet… But despite my personal needs to stay longer, I close the notebook, stop the recorder and pack it all down my bag.

“It’s alright Jennifer. I’ll follow Stiles out myself.” _Stiles again!_

Jennifer nods curtly and exits, the silence falls around us the door closes.

I stand up and so does he as I pull my bag over my shoulder. “There’s no need, Mr. Hale. I can see myself out.”

“I know, but I’d like to. Unless you wish I ‘d rather not…”

I dwell, not entirely sure to either accept or reject, so I shrug; his lips lift into a small smile as he gestures. Is he this well mannered all the time? Or is this a play? I’d like to know that… I’d like to see him relaxed and not this put as well.

He escorts me back to the foyer of his suite and I make sure to take a glance of everything before I leave. I should’ve taken selfies while waiting. I was even planning to ask for a selfie with _Mr. Hale_ over here, but that was before I realized he was all this proper and old for his age. He’s only 27 - soon to become 28, and he acts more adult than my dad.

“Don’t you like your first name, Mr. Hale?” I blurt out.

He arches a brow as he opens the main door. “Why would you think such?”

“Erh… Because I can’t call you Derek?” He gestures me out with an amused smile.

“I haven’t told you different?”

“So the whole interview I could’ve just…” I trailed out, miming the rest by using my arms. But he doesn’t seem to understand me. He looks bemused.

“Just what Stiles?” _Again!_

“Instead of Mr. Hale, I could’ve just called you Derek,” I finish.

The guards outside the door don’t follow as we walk right through. I can’t help it but turn my head in curiosity. They stand on each their side of the door; stiff postured with hands together behind their backs. They’re both dressed in black, just like Derek with black shades, covering their eyes and where they are directed. They also have this white spiral wire from their ears. Now that I think about it, I think the assistant had one herself, blended in her soft waves.

I look back ahead as I wait for Derek to answer.

“Yes.”

I look at his profile. He’s really close. Is he this intimate to everyone? I thought he was a distant person. He’s known to be untouchable after all. So close to him, I can detect his scent. His cologne is very heady, dark, and masculine with a touch of something sweet. A phenomenal odor I don’t believe I’ve smelled before. I’d like to know what he use, and maybe buy one myself, but don’t find the courage to ask.

I shake my head.

_Focus Stiles._

“But?”

“I’d prefer you not to.”

“And why is that?”

He smiles, humored. “I don’t like my first name spoken by people I don’t share a relationship with. I think it’s strange, as for you and the word sexy.”

I blush embarrassed and look down the floor.

_How does he know?_

“Ehr… Who can call you Derek then?”

“My family and friends. And lover if I have.”

“So people must earn to call you Derek?”

“I guess you could say that. Yes,” he answers simply.

“Well, Mr. Hale. You owe me permission to call you Derek three times since that is the number of times you’ve said my name. I think that’s only fair.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t approve.

“I think not,” he says shortly with a playful smirk. “During our way from the foyer and here, you’ve said my name five times. So it’s I you owe, Stiles.”

I scowl at him.

“You’ve got one last time left. Then we’re even.”

He smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. He seems somehow forlorn. But I ignore it. He extends his finger to press a button, summoning the lift.

We wait for seconds in dead silence before he shifts, even uncomfortably. _That’s a first._ He then builds some sort of courage, or settles into a decision, and turns to face me.

“So, I’d like to get to know you Mr. Stilinski.” My stomach flips. _What?_ I turn my head wide eyed before he relents.

“I haven’t really socialized with someone outside the film industry. And I’d like to change that. Will you do me the honor to…” He shrugs. “Take you out for lunch tomorrow or something?”

 _Or something?_ That’s the first time I see a lack of accuracy on his posh vocabulary.

“Wow. Uhm…” He is watching me intently. I feel warm again. “That would be awesome, but I believe I’m far gone before that.” I smile apologetically.

“Oh.” He doesn’t look too glad to be rejected. Maybe not used to it either... Who is dumb enough to say no? Well, me obviously. “Where are you leaving to?”

“Seattle. I work for Total Film magazine there.”

“Seattle?” he asks aghast. “You went all the way across the state for a ten minutes interview?”

_Eight to be precise._

“Yes,” I answer bemused. It’s nothing unusual? Some travel far longer for less than five minutes. Sometimes without luck at all because the _“star doesn’t feel well.”_

“When will you be leaving then?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a long flight,” he remarks and I look away with an amused smile.

“I’ll survive six hours.”

“Where are you staying for the night?” My eyes flickers back to his at once.

Why the curiosity though? But figure to be answer honest.

“Times Square Hotel. It’s not that far from here.”

This time he remains quiet, and nor do we both have time to chitchat far longer. The lifts pings and the doors slide open and I reach out my hand for a farewell.

“It was an honor to meet you in person Mr. Hale. Thank you for your time.”

“The pleasure’s all mine Mr. Stilinski.” His hand is inhumanly soft.

“You’ve got your last chance to say my name.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes do. They almost sparkle.

“I’d like to spare it until we meet again.” _Again?_

I pull a weak smile before I walk inside the lift, pressing the first floor, which is 52 stories down. It is quite a hotel.

I look up and he’s watching me intently, his hands tucked down to both pockets of his black trousers.

“Good day, Mr. Hale.”

“Safe flight, Mr. Stilinski,” he says and nod before the doors close.

 

End of Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2

I look at my own blurred reflection at the steel doors before I look up the elevator ceiling as the time pass. Somehow, I feel quite down. Not entirely sure why. Just down and kind of… glum.

On the brighter side, I got a vey good interview with Derek. He even wanted to know me better and build a friendship. How awesome wouldn’t that be? Me, Stiles Stilinski, a journalist from Total Films, Seattle - friends with, him, Derek Hale, a world famous actor.

Too bad I couldn’t do that lunch with him tomorrow. My flight goes at 10 AM, and I must be on the airport one-two hours earlier.

I’m looking forward to start my article though. I think of starting with it as soon as I’m back at the hotel while my memory is fresh. But before I head back, I’d like to buy a cup of coffee first.

I hope my boss will like what I’ve achieved out of the interview. It’s clearly the best and the most intense one I’ve ever had during my two years at Total Films. Neither do I believe anything will top it.

I’m sure Derek Hale will make history with his work. Have I mentioned his Oscars, Golden Globes, MTVs, EFAs and plenty more awards? Well, now I have. He won his first Oscar at age 21. He’s the youngest male to win one in such early stage of acting career.

He’ll probably be a legend… Not that he isn’t one now, but it’s a comforting thought that I can die proud to actually have met the guy.

When I was 21, I’ve just moved into an apartment with Lydia (my strawberry blonde cohabitant) in Seattle, newly graduated and gotten my degree, searching for a job, which I got at the magazine I’m working for this current day. And right now, I’m above all grateful, or else I would’ve probably had a less interesting job, watching the films of the guy I just met.

The lift pings and halts before the doors slide open. I stroll out to the lobby and further to the glass main exit. I stop in the middle of the pavement and turn, craning my head up to the gigantic white building.

My lips curves into a faint smile before I walk down the street.

A couple minutes away from Four Seasons Hotel is a Starbucks café and I settle into an agreement with myself to buy a coffee there. I’m not really a fan of their coffee, but I figured it would do. Plus I’m not really keen to walk all over Manhattan on search for the best café.

I cross the road and walk inside the shop. A young woman meets me with a welcoming smile, ready to take my order. She was another blonde and quite easy on the eye. She’s not as tall as Jennifer though, and she seems affordable - and I don’t mean cheap, but less expensive than Jennifer and her probably many hundreds of dollar dress.

“Good afternoon Sir. What can I offer them?”

“I’d like a venti cup of coffee. Takeout,” I order shortly and dig down my bag for my wallet.

“That will be 1 dollar and 70 cents,” she types on the cashier before it opens. I then give her 2 dollars.

“Keep the change.”

She smiles. “Thank you.” She then retrieves a large paper cup and a black marker. “You name Sir?”

“Stiles with an I, not Y.” She chuckles.

“Stiles,” she repeats before she turns to make my coffee.

I move out of the way as a male takes someone else’s order and wait as I follow the blonde’s moves. After a minute, she approaches with a smile before she leans over against my ear.

“Call me.” My stomach clenches and I look at her bemused.

I take the warm cup from her hand and turn it to see my name and ten digits underneath, which I assume is her phone number.

I flush crimson while a chuckle leaves my smile. I then turn and make my way to the doors, but don’t leave without one last look of her.

_I officially and utterly dig New York._

 

* * *

 

I’m back to my hotel room. The sky is no longer blue, but the darkest shade of purple, and the view is great although I’m not 52, but 12 stories from the ground.

The clock is around seven and I’m on the bed, my back resting on the headboard with my MacBook Pro on my lap.

The article is soon done, and I’m satisfied about it so far.

Then - out of thin air - the hotel phone rings and steals my attention and I put the laptop aside.

I pick it up at the third ring and place the phone against my ear.

“Hello?”

“Good evening Mr. Stilinski. We’re sorry to bother you, but someone named Miguel wish to make a transfer.”

“Miguel?”

“Yes, Sir.” _Who do I know whose named-OH!_ “Will you approve, or do you wish us to-“

“No, no! Ehr… I approve. It’s fine. Please, do bring him over.”

“Very well, Sir.” Then there’s a moment of silence while I wait.

Miguel? It must be Derek, right? I cross my legs like a monk on the beds and bite my nails in excitement.

Why would he want to call me though?

Did I leave something behind? I don’t think I did…

“Stiles.” I can hear a smile on _his_ voice, and I’m literally fan girling. Derek Hale is calling _me_! I would’ve been dancing on the floor, haven’t this phone been attached to the wall next to the bed.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No. Not at all. I was working with the article, but it’s all right.”

“I hope you speak well about me,” he sounds humored.

“I do. I do,” my stomach is a mess and I’m literally boiling. “What’s up?-ehm, I mean. To how do I get the honor of receiving your call Mr. Hale? May I just remind you that I don’t owe you anymore?”

“I know.” He’s so calm… I’m the complete opposite. “I thought it was a shame that you couldn’t make that lunch tomorrow, so I figured that maybe we could have dinner tonight instead?” I gape speechlessly.

“Oh, uhm…” I gulp.

Is this a dream?

Have I accidently fallen asleep?

I rest the phone against my shoulder and pinch it on place with my head as I look at my fingers.

Nope. Ten fingers in total. I’m not dreaming.

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Yes,” I shift on the bed. “When do I meet you? And where?”

“Just wait outside your hotel at 7:30. Chris and I will collect you.” Who’s Chris? Chris Hemsworth? Chris Evans? I thought we were going to be alone.

“Oh… ok.”

I wait.

“I will see you soon, Mr. Stilinski.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He chuckles. “Goodbye.”

“Bye…” And the call ends.

I place the phone back and I jump of the bed, and make a short victory dance before I take a rapid freeze. I should change.

I walk to my suitcase and dig up a pair of black skinny jeans and a white shirt. I then unbutton the jeans I already wore and pull down the zipper. Shrugging it down my thighs, it falls down my legs.

I step out of them and pull on the black ones. I then shake my left wrist and peek down my watch. I have 24 minutes. _No rush._

I unbutton my blue shirt and dress into the clean and soft white one. I then hear my stomach rumble and realize I haven’t eaten since before the interview, and that was only a roast beef baguette from the Subway.

I walk to the bathroom and switch the lights on. I stand in front of the sink, and watch myself button up the shirt to the second last button. I then adjust the cuffs before fuzz my hair.

Should I brush my teeth?

I breathe into my palm with my mouth open and smell.

I don’t really have bad breath. Maybe I’ll just take a mint gum or something?

But, I haven’t bought any gum…

I pick up my brush and squeeze a fair amount of toothpaste before I damp it with some water. After a minute or two, I spit out the fume and wash my mouth before I dry myself with a cloth and leave.

I pull on my black boots before I walk to the desk where I’ve left my bag. I delve down and grab my phone to then tuck it down my right back pocket. I do the same with my wallet on the other pocket, and accidently push the paper cup from Starbucks so it tips over, but luckily it’s empty - so no harm caused.

I pick it up and look at the phone number scribbled down. I’d like to call her, whoever she is, but what for? Date? I won’t start something I can’t keep… After all, I’m leaving tomorrow, and a distance relationship would be too complicated. But who knows, maybe she wasn’t keen to start something at all. Maybe she just wanted a one-night stand with Stiles?

I smile.

I wouldn’t mind, really.

I leave it on the table and sit down the bedside. I then collapse backwards, looking at the ceiling. I lift my left hand and pull the sleeves to my shirt. 18 minutes. _That’s ten minutes too much._ I sigh and close my eyes, my stomach rumbles again.

Glad to know I’ll be having dinner soon - and with the sexiest man alive apparently.

I straighten up and look around the hotel room. It wasn’t like anything back at Four Seasons Hotel, but it’s better and larger than the rooms I’ve stayed on before. However, I shouldn’t compare a suite with a business class room. That is meant to go wrong.

I stand up and stroll towards the wide window.

I’m not sure if I’m nervous or just very excited, along with starving. I’m probably the mixture of both and the latter, which is why my stomach is both hurting and tingling. This time I have no purpose when I meet him. Earlier I had a job to do, so I knew what I had to do. Now we’re just two guys going out for dinner. And he wants to know me… I guess I’ll be the one being interviewed this time.

The time goes by and it’s time for me to leave. I grab my leather jacket, the cardkey and walk out of the room.

I pull on the jacket on my way down the hallway and summon the elevator. When the doors open, two dudes were already inside. I smile to them politely and enter before the doors slide close.

The elevators on this hotel have mirrors, unlike at Four Seasons, and by now I notice both the guys were holding hands. I look down on my own feet and shift before I look up again to catch the tallest guy lift both their hands and kiss it; a white light dance along on a silver ring.

“Engaged?” escapes out of me, and they look ahead to my reflection with a smile.

“Yes, it’s our fifth month today.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Are you on a vacation?”

“Work. It’s my last night.”

“Spend it well.”

I chuckle. “Will do.”

I look up above the doors where the floor counter is. As we reach the first floor, the doors slide open and I walk through the lobby and out the main doors. The sound of New York traffic play is beautiful, and now that it’s night, the city seems to be awake. Although it never slept.

“Mr. Stilinski,” someone addresses me, and my eyes direct on a black suited man in front of a sleek black Audi Q7. He’s one of the security guards in front of the suite. He’s tall, around his 40’s, ice blue eyed, brown haired with stubbles - lighter than Derek’s. Is he Chris?

I approach him warily, and he seems surprised that I reach out my hand to him. He watches it for a couple seconds, confused what to do before he decides to take it.

“Good evening,” I greet. “I suppose you’re Chris.”

“Yes I am, Sir.”

Somehow, I’m relieved although it would be awesome to have dinner with either Thor or Captain America.

“Please, just call me Stiles.”

He looks at me bemused.

“If you insist on it, Mr-Stiles.”

 I smile at him before I look down the car window. I can’t see through it though… It’s peach black, but I guess if your face is famous it’s necessary.

Chris opens the door for me and I clamber in before he shuts it. I then turn my head and meet a warm smile.

Damn, I want this guy’s looks…

Ok, so I may have a man-crush on him, but who doesn’t? With his looks, I would be bathing around ladies by now.

He hasn’t changed attire, although his tie is gone and his shirt is unbuttoned. Just like mine, except that he wears it far better than I do.

“Good evening Mr. Stilinski,” he nods.

“Mr. Hale,” I nod in return and buckle up.

“Hungry?”

“Uhm… Famished actually,” I smile at him, but look away and out to the windshield.

“Famished? Haven’t you eaten since the last time we’ve met?“ He makes it sound like days have gone by, when really; it has just been a couple hours.

“No,” I feel like a child and the weird need to explain myself for him. “I got so sucked up into my work that I forgot.”

His strong eyebrows rise, revealing his hazel irises. “You forgot to eat?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m glad I called you then.”

“Yeah. I guess I could say the same,” I chuckle, his eyes darkening, causing steam in the car - not really, but it could’ve.

I look away and settle my eyes on Chris who enters the car and takes his seat behind the wheel. He then twists the key and the vehicle growls to life before we’re on the road.

“Uhrm… Where are we eating?”

“Riverpark restaurant. Unless you prefer to go somewhere else?”

He’s watching me as I feel the rush of finding an answer so he can look somewhere else _but_ me.

I shrug. “I’m not familiar around here, so I don’t really know. I guess Riverpark will do.”

He smiles amused.

“I’m sure it will Mr. Stilinski. It has quite positive reviews, and known to be one of the best around in New York. It’s a four star restaurant.”

“Oh…”

_And the price?_

I bite my bottom lip anxiously, and his eyes flicker down to it before he turns his head away.

He’s just like earlier. Collected and reserved. I wonder what goes through that mind of his.

A thick, suffocating silence fills the car and I shift uncomfortably on my seat. How long will this car trip last? I hope it won’t be like this during the dinner too… But if it will, at least I have something to eat and ease my nerves with.

“Do you do this often?” I inquire out of nowhere.

He looks back at me bemused. “Go out for dinner?”

I roll my eyes and he arches a brow.

Do I really have to be specific whenever I speak to this guy?

“No. I mean, do you often have journalists for dinner?” I pause and repeat my question in my head, but his laughter disarms me before I could figure the very big flaw.

“I don’t do cannibalism Mr. Stilinski.”

I flush and drop my head, stupefied.

“Oh. That’s good,” I massage the back of my neck. “You had me worried for a second there,” I play along; a laugh escapes my embarrassed grin. “No… That wasn’t what I was trying to ask.”

“You wonder if I take journalists, such as you, out to dinner frequently?” He formulates, and I nod. He’s back to his serene self, and I must honestly confess I prefer his laughing-self much better.

“No, I don’t Mr. Stilinski. This is a first. As I’ve told you, I never usually socialize with commoners. That is if we look besides formal events.” _Commoners?_ How haughty of him. And if this isn’t a formal event, then I don’t know what is.

But… Does that mean he finds me interesting? Or am I just some sort of project and that it was a spontaneous decision to choose _me_ out of everyone to become _“friends”_ with?

I don’t even think I’ll be able to have a very close friendship with this guy. First, he’s famous and I’ve probably mentioned that a million times by now. Second, he’s like… a king and I’m a peasant. And last of all, I can’t even speak casually like I would’ve with… let’s say Lydia or other _commoners_.

“Are you nervous?” he asks and pops my bubble.

“No? Well, maybe a little. Hangin’ around with famous people is a first for me too.”

“I’m _just_ a guy, Stiles.” _Stiles…_ _He owes me now._ “We’re both made of flesh and blood,” he continues, voice soft and smooth.

Ok, wait a minute. First he says he doesn’t socialize with _commoners_ , which kind of says: “be honored to breathe the same air as me,” but now he says he’s _just_ some guy and that I shouldn’t think much of his fame?

Hands down, I’m confused.

“Do you happen to have blue blood though?” I mumble. He looks at me dead serious, galled even.

I look down in awe and purse my lips into a grim line. I then wrap my arms around my belly due to a certain feeling that it might just thunder any second.

“Are we far away?” I try to sound humble to loosen up the tensed vibe.

We’re driving along the riverside, so I assume we are nearing our location. The skies are dark - but I guess a good reason for that is the shaded windows.

We’ve been driving for a good ten minutes.

While I wait for Derek to answer me, I beg my stomach to stay quiet.

“Really famished aren’t you, Mr. Stilinski?”

Was that a tease?

My stomach rumbles and I see Derek’s lips rise ever so slightly as his eyes tilts down to my stomach. I flush red like the traffic light ahead of us, and look out the window while the speed lowers.

“I guess your stomach can speak for itself.” He’s laughing at me. Well, not physically, but I can tell he’s holding back.

I look at Chris. Maybe it’s just me, but he too seems to be amused.

I frown; a soft chuckle leaves Derek.

“I apologize. The answer to your question will be no. Riverpark is just around the corner,” Derek announces and the light climbs down from red, orange and to green.

As we arrive our location, Chris parks in a roundabout and steps out of the car. I can see the entrance further ahead. The restaurant building is of glass and quite impressive looking. And expensive, but what do you expect? Cheap doesn’t really ring around the idea of having dinner with a Hollywood star. I should’ve known better. How dumb could I be to think we would be eating in an affordable place such as KFC.

I unbuckle my belt, and so does Derek before Chris opens his door. I make sure I open mine and walk out before Chris can. And he doesn’t seem too pleased about it as I meet his eyes over the car roof.

Derek climbs out majestically and adjusts his blazer once outside. He walks around and over to me with a polite smile on his face. I feel so underdressed by looking at him. I hope there are _commoners_ like myself inside. I feel like I’m trespassing into a higher league than where I belong.

“I’m glad there’s no line. It sucks when it is.” _Woah! Mr. Hale just said what?_

_SUCKS!_

Maybe I’ll see a more _chilled out_ side of him. If he has…

He walks in the open doors and I follow behind him like a gadfly.

The hostess who welcomes us seems to recognize him at first sight since she flushes pink, but she manages to remain professional as she looks over to me and smile to us both.

“Good evening gentlemen.”

“A reserved table for two by Hale,” Derek informs.

_Reserved?_

He booked a table beforehand?

I look around the restaurant. It’s quite crowded, I hear the low buzz of people laugh and talk. I think it’s cozy and the environment is luxurious and I love the lightening. Not too bright, but neither too dark.

The hostess types on the computer before she beams up at both of us.

“A table for two by Mr. Hale is right this way. Please follow me,” she grabs two menus and gestures us through the restaurant. It’s quite spacious, which is good. Who wants to eat besides strangers and hear their conversation, and them yours?

The hostess leads us to a table furthest away from the people and on our way I notice eyes directed on us. Well, on Derek. She then retrieves a card from the table with RESERVED written down on it before she pulls a chair for me apparently.

I give her a coy smile before I take my seat as Derek takes his seat across the table. The hostess gives us a red menu each and I open it to only drop my jaw by the sight of the prices.

“I’ll be back in a few to take your orders,” the hostess smiles before she departs.

Derek opens the menu, stroking his chin as he reads. I absently ogle at him and wonder how it must feel like to have stubble. I’m naked like a baby’s butt when it comes to facial hair. I don’t think I’ll ever grow a beard. I’ve waited for so long, but only have this downy area above my upper lip.

He tilts his eyes up and catches me staring. I freeze.

 _Oh shit!_ I try to find an escape.

“Uhm… What’s a Buffalo's Milk Burrata?”

He looks back down to the menu. _Fjuh. Nice save._

”It’s some sort of fresh Italian cheese if I’m not mistaken. It’s made from mozzarella and cream. Why? Are you thinking of having one?” He looks back up.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Can I just have what you order?”

He smiles. “You want a baby octopus?” Blood drains from my head.

“Is that what you are having?” I ask before I look down to the menu.

* * *

Baby Octopus  
 _Heirloom Tomatoes, Charred Watermelon, Niçoise Olives, Cilantro, Seaweed Vinaigrette_

* * *

I frown. How does that even taste?

Derek chuckles. “I’m sorry. I have a very bad sense of humor.” He looks down the menu. “I think of taking a Grilled Quail for appetizer.”

_Appetizer?_

“How many meals are we having?” I ask.

“I was thinking three, but we can take more until you’re satisfied. You haven’t eaten all day.” I think I’m blushing. At least I’m warm.

I let the menu down and Derek watches me intently as I struggle myself out of my leather jacket. I place it on the top rail of the chair before I look down the menu.

“Do we order it all at once?”

“Yes.”

“What if I want more?”

He chuckles. “Then we order more, Stiles.” _He owes me two times._

The hostess returns with a notepad and pen on her hand. She has the same welcoming smile.

“Are you ready to order or do you need more time?”

Derek looks at me with a question on his eyes. I look at the hostess.

“We’re ready. Just double everything he orders. I’m taking whatever he’s having.” I smile, although I know this will pain my wallet a lot.

She looks from me and to Derek; ears open and eyes drinking every inch of him.

“Very well,” Derek nods to me with a small smile before he turns to the hostess and orders a very specific menu with things he wants added and things he wants removed. It was quite fascinating to watch, although I feel for the hostess who seems to struggle to keep up.

“And for drinks, Sir?”

“A bottle of red wine. Pavelot Savigny-les-Beaune 1er Cru La Dominode if you have.” _Jeez._

“From which year?”

Derek shrugs and looks at me. “Just something from around this decade would be nice,” he says absently before he closes the menu and hands it over. The hostess takes it along with mine before she departs again.

I raise my brows at him and he cocks his head to one side. “Will you please breathe Mr. Stilinski?” I looked at him bemused. I then realize I was holding my breath and let it go.

I shift on my seat and rest my forearms on the table. “Quite an order you just made Sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“You lost me at; I’d liked the Honchishimiiishi…”

“Honshimeji mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

He smiles. “I’m just very clear with what I want.”

“I see that now. Are you a perfectionist Derek?” His eyes drill into mine as I call him by his name.

I lift my arms in defeat; a smile I can’t hide conjures up my face.

“You’ve called me Stiles twice. You owe me to call you Derek one more-Oh…”

“We’re even now,” he smiles smugly.

The hostess returns with an ice bucket; the bottle of ~~Camelot-Less-Beans-something~~ red wine is on top.

She then places two big wine glasses for both Derek and me before she opens the cork with a corkscrew. She pours both are glasses half full before she leaves again.

I’ve never actually tasted red wine before. I’m not really a wine person. Not a beer person either. I’m actually not into alcohol now that I think about it. I had a period in college, but don’t we all? I bite my lip and look thirstily at the glass. Can I take a sip of it? Or do I have to wait? I don’t know the table rules when it comes to fine ass dinner. I kind of just know the basics such us; don’t burp, fart, pick your nose and such.

Derek takes his glass and place the rim delicately against his lower lip before he tips it only a slight. I do the same, although less smoothly and more clumsily. I take a mouthful of red wine in my mouth and Derek smiles at me. I scrunch my nose by the overwhelming taste of fresh, bitter-sweet berry flavors. I swallow it down and shiver before I place it back on the table.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I look Derek in the eye.

I’m not as intimidated around him anymore.

“I thought the interview was finished.” His answer is cut. I gulp.

Ok, maybe I’m still a little bit intimidated by him. But that’s not much.

“Besides…” he continues softer. “I took you here to get to know you. I think you know me much more than I know you. But if you insist; No, I don’t see myself as a perfectionist. Like I said, I just know what I want and go from there.”

“Alright.” I sigh. “Come with it.” He arches a brow bemused at my request.

“Come with what?”

“Your questions? I’m all yours,” I wave my hand in a sloppy way as a gesture for him to ask me anything he wants. He smiles at me before he looks down.

 _Oh my._ Is this the shy Derek?

I follow every inch of his moves intently. He takes another small sip of the wine before he seems to collect himself and shift on his seat.

He looks back up at me, his gaze strong, taking no prisoners. “As you wish,” he places the glass back on the table. “How old are you?”

I grimace at his question. Of all questions, that’s what he has to come with?

“I’m 23.”

“You’re quite young.”

I smile. “What are you? Old?”

He chuckles. “What are you planning to do in the future?”

I pout and shrug. “I don’t have any plan, so it’s hard to say.”

“Do have any dreams?”

“Having your life,” I scoff, a chuckle leaves my mouth, but he doesn’t seem to like my answer. Humor is long gone from his face.

I reach for the wine to moisten my throat.

“Why would you want my life?”

I swallow the deep red content. “Isn’t it obvious? You can get any girl you want. You’re filthy rich. Talented… Sexiest man alive and stuff.”

“You want money?”

I furrow my brows at him. Why does he make it sound like something bad?

I clear my throat and shift on my seat. “Don’t we all?”

“Some things are more important than wealth.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You have money, Derek. You don’t have to worry about taxes or look down at price tags.”

“Point well made,” he nods.

“Don’t you like your life?”

“I guess I do,” his eyes are lost to something down the table. To me, he doesn’t seem to commit to his words. So is he really?

The hostess is back with the Grilled Quail and my brows shots up as I see the food.

It looks delicious, but I can barely see it on the plate…

“Hope it tastes,” the hostess smiles at me, but frowns at Derek who doesn’t seem to give her any reward, not even a look. She turns and walks away, using her hips a little bit more, hoping he would watch her as she leaves.

“Uhm… Is something wrong, Derek?”

I meet his eyes. They are actually greener than they are hazel. What makes them hazel is the brown color around his pupils.

“No. Everything is good,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks down to the food and picks up the cutlery.

“So where do you live?”

“I share an apartment with my cohabitant.”

I seem to pique his interest as he looks at me intently.

“With who?”

“Lydia Martin.”

He stabs the tiny chicken-looking-thing on the plate before he cuts it with his knife.

“Is she your girlfriend?” He looks at me with hooded eyes.

I scoff. “No. She’s just a very close friend. Best friend actually.”

“Would you mind to enlighten me about this… Lydia. I’d like to know a little more about her.”

I watch him bemused, but I don’t question and decide to answer honestly.

“Uhm… I’ve known her since forever. She’s also my ex-“

“Ex? What happened?”

“It got awkward,” I scoffed. “We were already quite good friends before we tried something _more_. It didn’t work obviously. She’s more like a sister to me, and I, a brother to her.”

“Or maybe if you’ve just taken time to work it out, it would’ve last?”

He’s referring to the interview. He’s using my line against me. I feel my cheeks heat while he brings the fork to his mouth and takes a bite.

“I see your point.” He smiles by the satisfaction my confession gave him.

I look down on the food, and remember how famished I am. I take the cutlery and take a fair piece of the tiny grilled bird on my plate.

I will have to order a lot of these to be full… Or maybe I’ll just act I’m full so I don’t have to pay so much for so little and buy a very big meal on McDonalds instead.

I take the bite and I feel the meat melt against my tongue. I moan and take another bite; I moan a little more.

Jeez. This is really good… I mean, yeah it’s a luxurious restaurant and all, but I never believed that the stars meant much. Food is food, but this… I lick the juicy and sweet gravy from my lips.

I look up and see that Derek has been watching me all this time; his eyes shaded in dark silk and I feel some sort of threat exposing from them.

My face falter and I look behind me, but it’s no one there. I look back. He’s still watching me. What did I do?

I take a swig of the wine, my eyes never leaving his.

“I’m glad you like the food,” he says gloomy.

“Don’t you?” I mumble.

A smirk conjures up his face.

“It’s just how I like it.”

I direct all focus on the food and filling my empty stomach. But as I see a shadow move from the corner of my eye, I turn my head with my mouth stuffed.

A tiny boy with a tiny blue suit comes running with an iPhone too big for his hand. He’s far better dressed than I am…

I chew my food and watch him intently as Derek turns his head by a small tug on his blazer. The boy addresses him as Miguel, his character on the Avengers before a wide and welcoming smile appears on Derek’s smug face.

_Oh now he’s happy… He looked like he was about to slay a prey seconds ago._

“Hey there. What’s your name stranger?”

My lips curls into a small smile by the sight. The boy’s name is Benjamin and he wonders if he can have a picture.

Derek gladly approves and takes the phone when I break through their bonding.

“I can take the picture,” I offered, Derek looks at me before he hands the phone over. He then brings the boy up to his lap and asks him to say: Bumblebeeeeeee.

I then take the picture before the boy runs off back to his mom.

“I’m sorry about that.” Derek is back to his collected and put self.

It was all an act.

If I was a bad, but on the flip side, a good journalist, I would’ve written it down so people would know. He’s putting himself at risk for exposure actually. Why does he trust me? What have I done to gain his trust?

“No, it’s fine… I actually expected more of it to happen. Only with women though.” He doesn’t answer me, but takes a sip of the wine. I then decide to move on and change the subject.

 “…When I came to your suite earlier today I was just like that boy. I couldn’t wait to finally meet you.”

He tilts his eyes up; ears open for what I had to come with.

“But?”

“But,” I emphasize. “When I realized how proper and formal the setup was, such as the thing with calling you Mr. Hale instead of Derek. And how professional you were with everything, both manners and vocabulary, I lost the courage to ask you for a selfie. Which was my biggest goal.”

His face is rigid, and he looks cold - on the surface. He gives nothing away, but if it’s not only me… I can see repressed frown.

“I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

I nod, but freeze. “What? No… That wasn’t what I meant. You weren’t a disappointment. I just thought you would be a little different and not so… uptight.” Words leaks from my mouth and I blame the wine.

“Uptight?” he arches a brow.

“Forget what I just said. I’m babbling. Sorry. I’m easy lightheaded when it comes alcohol.” Blood drains from my face, and I’m probably as pale as it gets.

Now I’ve done it.

_Great job, Stiles._

“Are you finished?” he asks and looks down to my plate. “If you are. I’d like to move on to the main course.” He sounds clipped - or pissed would be the right word for it.

He probably just wants this dinner to be over with.

I scowl to myself for over speaking and nod before he waves to the hostess and she takes our plates. He gives her a gentle smile and she swoons in front of him before she walks away. Satisfied this time.

To the main coarse we got succulent roasted duck breast with cherry sauce. It was delicious along with potatoes and asparagus, and other diced vegetables. It was a tiny meal though, but bigger than the appetizer.

We didn’t speak much during the meal. It was uncomfortable, but I guess no one was to blame, but myself.

We have just been served our last dish, the dessert, which is a chocolate fondant with ice cream. I smile down the food, before it withers by the sight of Derek.

I want to change his mood, but how? Maybe I’ll call Benjamin back, if he hasn’t left yet. I look around, and don’t see the kid anywhere. Just now I also notice that a lot of costumers has gone away. Those who are left are watching something, and then us.

I take the small spoon and wait for Derek to do the same, but instead he retrieves his phone from his pocket and text something. I frown. Can’t he at least act and use a little of his talent to make the last minutes of this dinner less… awkward and painful?

I take a bite and shiver by the chocolate and the vanilla ice cream together. I moan softly, not as loud as I did before due to the lack of people around, which means a decrease of the volume on the restaurant.

“This is really good,” I look up; he’s still on his phone.

“I’m glad to hear you do,” he mumbles absently.

_Oh yeah… I can see that._

Piqued I retort in utter bitterness, and honestly I’m demanding his attention. “If you eat yours, you might just think the same.”

He looks up, his eyes wide and clear, no mystery or secrets hiding beyond them. Just light green (kind of hazel) eyes that looks more or less surprised.

It doesn’t last long though. His phone calls right after. He was then about to stand up and leave. “I’m sorry. I have to take this-“

“Just take the call here. It’s alright.”

He looks at me for a moment before he lowers his behind down to the seat.

“Hale,” he answers business like. I watch him intently, observing everything. “Yes? … Really… How crowded? ... I’m with Mr. Stilinski … I’m aware of that … It’s none of your concern,” he sigh. It doesn’t sound good. “Will do … Thank you, Jennifer.”

_Oh… His assistant._

He ends the call and watches me stuff another bite of the delicious fondant before something trickles down my mouth, tickling me.

Derek’s jaw clenches as he sigh and stand up.

“I’m sorry Stiles, but we have to leave.” I gape up at him before I lick my lips and wipe the chocolate from my jaw.

“Why?”

“People are blocking the road. They know I’m here.” _Woah…_

“How did they-“

“I took a picture with a kid. His mother must’ve published it and tagged our location. It has happened before,” he answers, and I frown down the half eaten dessert.

He hasn’t even taken a bite of his, and this is the best part of the whole dinner. I pout like a whiny child, but stand up from my seat and turn to grab my jacket. By the time I turn back, Derek grabs me by the hand and scurries through the restaurant.

“We haven’t paid…”

“It’s taken care off.”

I look at him confused before I look ahead.

_Crap…_

I hear a girl scream before the whole crowd does the same by the sight of us. Or Derek. I’m a nobody compared.

I pull my hand from Derek’s and he turns his head to me by the tug. I struggle myself back into my jacket before two guars approaches Derek. They seem to argue, but I don’t hear what about.

I look back at the crowd and notice the railings that keep them outside the restaurant.

I also see sirens blink at the background.

They really blocked the road?

When did all this happen?

The guards lead Derek through the crowd, protecting him from flying limbs before Chris approaches me.

“Mr. Stilinski, keep your head down and don’t stop,” he orders me before he grabs my upper arm and leads me through the crowd.

I do as I’m told and make myself as small as possible, but I think I at least got eight forearms slapped on the face, and then elbow everywhere while high-pitched screams pierce my ears.

When I see the crowd loosen _and the ground_ under my feet, I begin to pick up the pace in panic. Chris leads me to the Audi and opens the door for me. I dive in to my escape and find myself halfway into someone’s lap. Panting, I tilt my head to meet Derek’s face. I then recoil backwards into my seat and take moment to swallow it all in.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes while I buckle up, my heart rate on its highest before I turn with a terrified look on my face.

“Your lip is bleeding,” he remarks and retrieves a handkerchief from the inside of his jacket. I lick my lips, and the metallic taste corrupts my tongue. I take the white piece of garment and place it on my bottom lip.

I feel like my face is beaten, especially the apples of my left cheek. I think I will have a bruise… A lot of bruises. _Everywhere._

I look back at Derek, who looks at me concerned. “Do you still want this life Stiles?” he asks, the vehicle starts and Chris drives slowly out of the area, trying not to drive on someone on the process…

 

End of Chapter Two.


	3. Chapter 3

The door closes itself behind me after I enter my hotel room, and I’m glad to be back. My head is pounding as if two elephants are banging inside of it. My face, arms, sides - whole body in generally is hurting as if the elephants are banging _on_ top of me…

And worst of all - the heavy truth that has wrapped ache around my heart - I don’t feel all this pain was worth it at all. I mean. The dinner was a disaster. I felt like I was on a meeting with someone I couldn’t get along with. And our farewells were short and cold.

_I would’ve liked a friendly hug…_

Haven’t it been for the dinner, I would’ve been leaving New York tomorrow with a good memory of the guy I look up to. Now… I’m no longer sure. Like, what did I achieve out of that dinner except from free delicious (not to mention expensive) food? I don’t feel like I know Derek any much better. He’s so closed, complicated and grumpy. And he’s mood swings are unfathomable.

 _Then why do you feel a certain pull?_ someone behind my head asks before an imaginary figure of myself appears; arms crossed, tapping his foot and looking at me with a brow arched.

Pull? Why would I feel a pull towards him? I mentally fan the ghostly figure with my hand and he blows away.

I bring my head to my hands and take two handful of my hair before I turn on my heel and collapse backwards down the bed.

I hear something fall, and my stomach tells me it’s my Mac, (so does my imaginary self; his hands on each side of his face looking like the guy from The Scream painting by Van Gogh) but my heart does not submit, and neither does the rest of my beef beaten body.

Suddenly, I feel a pathetic need to cry and just empty all mixed thoughts and feelings in my head into salty tears. I guess I’m just overwhelmed. Apparently, today has been too much for Stiles Stilinski.

I've interviewed a great titled man, gone to _dinner_ with the great titled man, and then mobbed by the great titled man’s female fans! Definition: Mobbed as in beaten to death.

Deep down inside I feel something scaring me as well. My imaginary self - or subconscious if you will - is diving into a container on search; trash scatters everywhere.

I feel troubled, and just unease with myself. I don’t know what it is, which is what frightens me the most…

I cross my arms above my head, looking up the ceiling.

He intrudes my head again.

Derek Hale.

I feel like it’s more to him than what I saw today. I think there’s more to him than the world knows about him... He’s cold in the surface, but what is he inside? It could be ice, or magma - or fluid hot chocolate like the fondant.

Maybe if we had time to really build a good friendship, maybe then I would get to know him. The real him. The one behind the suits and fancy vocabulary. To bad I don't have time though. I'm leaving tomorrow.

I sigh and close my eyes. I will most likely never meet him again. I should just behold the good memories and trash the rest. Yeah... I'll just flip everything bad into good. He bought me dinner and it was good, and he gave me a new experience; a little taste of fame.

A wonderful and peaceful place in my mind draws my consciousness to it, and I slowly drift, but don’t give in due to something happening in the reality - something a part of myself doesn’t want to ignore. Another shape hints to appear, but vanishes before it evolves into a figure.

I struggle in between two worlds to hear the disturbing sound - this time clearer. It’s dark, strong... and earth shaking (kind of.) I hear it again. It sounds like a fist drumming a hard surface. It plays at the same pace as the banging ache in my head. Once… Twice… Trice…

“Stiles?”

My eyes flutters open and something tickles my face.

I sit up and look around the dark room. Was my mind playing a game with me? Because it isn’t a game I’d like to play.

I hump to the bedside, but feel the dizziness of every hump as my brain wobble inside my scull. I peek to the entrance and to the light line underneath the door.

Someone is standing on the other side.

I jump as that someone knocks.

“Stiles. It’s Derek.”

I blink rapidly to wake myself, but I truly feel woozy as if I’m to pass out any time soon. I fight the pain and the tiresome feeling that keeps sucking me into a far away place.

I stand up.

“I’d like to come inside,” he continues. His voice is soft, warm, humble even. I follow it through the dark and feel something cold against my embrace. I caress the hard surface with my hand, until I shiver by the touch of cold metal.

I twist and pull the door handle; a light intrudes inside and I squint: as if unlocking my phone screen in bed at night.

“Stiles…” His voice caresses my name; I almost swoon dreamingly and his voice brings warmth into me. I didn’t even know I was cold in the first place.

He pushes me back inside the hotel room. The door shuts, but he switches the lights on and I whimper in discomfort. It’s so bright that I’m completely blinded, and I hear a sob… from - myself?

When did I even start to cry?

In front of a dude! Not cool.

I cover my face with my forearms ashamed to be seen in such condition.

I stagger backwards before I feel his hands on my side.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Well. I can’t see.” I hear his chuckle and he grabs both my wrists and pulls them down.

I know he’s in front of me. He’s warm. I can feel the radiation. And I realize I’m shaking.

“Open your eyes Stiles,” he commands weakly and soft. So soft it makes me calm. “Open them,” he insists and I do as I’m bid to do. I see his eyes, and borrow some comfort from them.

I’ve never been this close to him.

 _This_ is intimate.

I blush and pull away; I turn on my heel, but a little too fast.

Derek captures me on mid-air before I meet the floor.

“Easy,” he says as he leads me back to the bed.

We sit next to each other, although I decide to lie down.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Why are you here?” I avoid his question, mostly because I don’t have an answer. And I don’t want to find out. Not now. My brain has overdriven enough for today. Plus, I don’t know what’s wrong or the cause of my emotional outbreak. I feel like a wimp. This is so far from masculine as it gets. I just want to melt away and through the floor.

I’m a 23 year old crying… No wonder why I’m single.

He looks down at me intently, I think I see a frown on his face, but tears got my sight vague. He shifts and pulls up a black square thing.

“You forgot your wallet on the car.” He then stands up, and walks around the bed and to the night table. “I’ll leave it here,” he announce while I make myself ready for another goodbye.

I don’t answer, but turn to my stomach and close my eyes inside my arms.

“Does your head hurt?”

_How does he know?_

I nod.

“It’s due the screams. It can be overwhelming. It used to happen to me before, but I’ve got used to it through time. Do you have Aspirin around?”

I nod.

“Can you manage to tell me where?”

“Toilet bag on the suitcase,” I mumble while I feel warm tears tickle me at they fall. I don’t seem to bring it under control. I bet Derek can. I wonder how he can make himself cry under command… Does he just cry? Do he think of something? Or is it just an into moment thing?

I hear him delve into my suitcase before I hear a zipper.

He walks back and I feel the bed dip as he takes a seat left to my legs. I turn my head aside and peek.

I see him explore down my stuff before he picks up a foil packet of condom from it; a disturbed look cross his face before he finds the meds.

He’s different now.

I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s just something different about him. Probably something to do with his mood swings. Give it some time; he’ll probably be all grumpy again.

He looks around and sees something before he stands up. He seems to head towards the desk and pick up the paper cup before he strolls into the bathroom.

“Whose number is this?” his voice echoes as the water rush in the background. I shift on the bed so I half sit and lie on the bed with my back against the headboard.

He returns into the room, still with a questioning look on his face as he places the cup on the night table along with the pack of Aspirin.

“Some girl,” I shrug absently before I struggle off my shoes.

“You seem to attract a lot of women,” he remarks.

I look at him with a weak smug smile. “Must be my eyes…”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I think that smile is quite mesmerizing.”

I chuckle.

“Here,” he proffer two Aspirin before I place both the white pills upon my tongue. I reach out for the cup on his right hand, but he refuses to give it without helping out. He places the rim gently upon my bottom lip as he takes the name of my neck against his hand.

I feel weird, as if I’m a child… but decide not to make a fuss out of it.

He tilts the cup a slight and fills my mouth with the cold content.

I swallow the water, and Aspirins down with it while Derek places the cup on the night table. He then looks at the digits hauntingly.

“Are you gonna’ call her?” I smile at his slang. It’s not often you hear that, Mr. Hale slang with his vocabulary.

“Neh… Wouldn’t lead anyone with something that is destined to go wrong. I’d spare her time that way.”

“You believe in destiny?”

“I believe in a lot of things.”

He hesitates as if he’s struggling to speak out the words on his mind. He then tilts his eyes and meets mine. “Faith?”

I smile amused. “Neh… I believe more on timing and coincidence.”

He cocks his head to one side. “In what manner?”

I shrug. “It’s hard to explain… I think faith; destiny and soul mates are vague that they can be anything more than a belief. I just don’t think that no one is _made_ to find a specific person. It’s more like a comfort than it is to be true. Comforting in the way to know that someone out there is meant to be yours, and just yours…” He watches me intently, directing full attention to my words and me.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s a hard topic to talk about. Shortly: I think you find the right person on the right time, not depending on any supernatural forces, but timing and coincidence.”

A small smile conjures up his face, and I think my heart just skipped a beat. “I think you explained yourself very well.”

“Thank you.” I nod curtly.

I remember I asked him something around this subject. _“I must believe on something,”_ I remember him say.

“Are you any closer to find out what you believe in?” I ask.

“I think you just opened some new doors for me, Mr. Stilinski. For that I thank you.”

I smile.

“Will you enlighten me about earlier?” he asks and my smile withers. “What upset you?”

“I’d rather not go further into it than; I got overwhelmed,” I say short. He doesn’t seem pleased that I’ve build a blockage, but right now I’m done caring about his satisfaction. With his mood swings, I think he’ll never be satisfied either. Plus, he’s the king of walls. This guy has a fortress.

He seems deep in thought - I’d like to know what he is thinking - but he nods and leaves the subject, and I pull a relieved breath.

“You must be tired.”

“Exhausted.”

_Jeez. What’s the time even?_

I look down. It’s only 10 PM.

“I’d better leave then.” He doesn’t seem to commit to his words. I feel like he’s challenging me. And obviously I loose because…

“Stay.”

Yep.

My subconscious is rolling his eyes at me. Derek on the other hand has a small smug smile on his face. He’s waiting for me to say something more and I yield.

“-ffor a bit. I mean, you seem to be more talkative than you were during dinner, so I’d like to talk a little more before we say our last goodbyes.”

I made it sound so dramatic. He doesn’t even seem to enjoy my presence. Not during the dinner at least… Why would he suddenly do that now?

I sigh.

“Of course, if you want to stay. I’d understand if you’d rather go back to your suite. I’ll have to inform you that you’ve trespassed into lower standards, and that you should be aware of people on this floor. They might rob you or attach you for other envious reasons.”

_Stop. Please, for god sake, stop talking, Stiles._

“Oh… And welcome to my _suite_ by the way. It’s been long time no see,” I emphasize by waving around the room, my humor flat as a run over frog.

He chuckles, although I know it’s not because of the sarcasm in what I just said.

“Thank you. It’s quite… cozy.” He bends down to pick up my Mac. “Is it broken?”

“I hope not,” I shrug absently. I then explain before he asks another question. “It fell.”

“I can tell.”

And out of nowhere I blunt out a question - more or less.

“You don’t like to talk about your family…”

I pique his interest.

He’s watching me now. I see a warning in his eyes.

“Where did you get that impression?”

“You. You didn’t like the subject when I interviewed you.”

He leaves the laptop on the bed before he lifts his left leg halfway and turn to face me.

“What would you like to know?”

“First, why didn’t you want to talk about them?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to?”

“No, but a person don’t necessary need to tell for another one to see that he or she is uncomfortable with the subject. It’s all about body language. I saw what you did or did not like to talk about.”

“Did you now, Mr. Stilinski…”

“Yes.” He looks amused.

“Do you read bodies well?”

“Good enough, and now you’re just evading my question.”

A beam cracks his face, taking me off guard. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile with teeth before.

Nope, I haven’t.

I admire the view as he chuckles, he faces down to his lap, hiding bashfully from me.

“Why don’t you do that more often?” I remark before his smile falters a slight.

“Do what?”

“Smile. Like, _really_ smile.”

“I haven’t noticed I never did.”

“Well, you should. It suits you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” his smile is back to a controlled one.

“Now back to my question,” I continue and he scoffs.

“You never back down, do you Mr. Stilinski?”

“No, not if I know what I want.”

His eyes darken as if I’ve triggered something within him. He doesn’t give anything away, and it bothers me.

“Your wish shall be my command,” he bows his head gracefully.

“Spill it,” I smile, eager.

“Does your head feel any better?”

“Derek,” I swat his arm; a laugh leaves us both and there it is again. A grin.

“I don’t know Stiles,” he’s trying to collect himself, but struggles. “I just want to keep my family as minimum involved to media as possible. The attention can get overwhelming, as you’ve seen for yourself, and I don’t want my family affected by my success. People know who they are and that’s enough. I’d like to keep it that way.”

He has managed to tame his smile now. I see he really mean what he says and let the subject go. Besides, I would rather learn more about him.

“…You don’t like to talk about yourself either,” I add warily.

He arches a brow. “Don’t you know enough?”

“I know that you’re famous and what you’ve achieved… But that doesn’t say much of who you are as a person except from that you’re talented.”

“There’s not much more to know. I’m a simple person that way. Not at all interesting.”

“I think you are.”

He looks me in the eye. “Ok, Stiles. What do you want to know?”

Really? Just like that?

I should pick my questions wisely this time. Who knows how long he’ll be this generous.

“Are you a cat person or a dog person?” I squint at him as his brows shots up. For a second he looks bemused, even surprised, but eliminates it as his expression softens.

“I’m a dog person, although I have nothing against cats. Do you have a pet?” I shush at him and raise my forefinger.

“I question you, Derek. Don’t turn this about me.”

He smirks. “Of course not. But do you?”

I chuckle. “No. Now back to you. Do you have a dream?”

“When I sleep. It's when I use to have them.”

“You know what I mean.”

He chuckles softly good humored. “A dream would be to find someone I’d be happy with.”

“Open up and maybe you will,” I smile.

“It’s not that easy.”

What does that mean? I furrow my brow. “Yes it is,” I argue.

“Not to me.”

“Apparently.”

We look at each other for seconds in dead silence before he gives in and look down, taking a drag of air.

“Why do you find it hard to open up to someone?” I ask.

“If I share something about myself to anyone, I risk to spill something personal about myself to the media. And once leaked, it can never be taken back.”

“Therefore there’s something called trust.”

“But how do you know whose to trust? It’s not the same when you’re-“

“A commoner?” I arch a brow.

He looks flustered but manage to repress it so his voice remains soft. “It’s hard when you’re like me. I take a lot of risk by sharing anything to you considering your job.”

“Is that your words or Jennifer’s?”

“Mine.”

“So why are you taking the risk?”

Now he’s really struggling. He brings his hand to the back of his neck and massage. “I feel rebellious.”

I laugh. “Then tell me a secret that you’ve never told anybody.”

“Are you challenging me, Stiles?”

“Yes I am.”

He smirks and strokes his chin. “A secret huh?” He’s thinking and I wait in excitement. “What about you tell me one of yours first, and then I’ll tell you a secret of mine?”

“Negotiating, Mr. Hale?” I bite my bottom lip. Well, what can I loose? I mean, if he tells anyone _my_ secret… They wouldn’t know who I am.

I nod. “Very well. Deal… But only if you promise me not to back down once I’ve told you.”

“I promise.”

I curl my hand into a fist except from my little finger.

“Pinky swear?” I ask.

A childish beam appears his face, and chuckles, linking his little finger with mine.

“Pinky swear,” he repeats reassuringly: his voice darker and raspier than usual.

“Ok…” I breathe loudly.

“I’ve had a man-crush on you since I was 16.” I blush and so does he, although he’s quite tan so his redded cheek doesn’t show as much mine does. I make sure we move on quick. “Now it’s your turn.”

He blinks absently for moments before his brain proceeds my words. He looks down for a bit before tilts his gaze up with a small smile.

“It’s getting late. I should probably leave you to-“ He stands up, preparing his egress. He turns and takes a step, one step to many before I grab him by his arm and yank him back.

“Don’t you dare.”

He turns back with a mocking grin, standing right in front of me - inches away. “So eager to know, don’t you Stiles?”

“Eager wouldn’t cover it. I _demand_ a secret in return.” I look him in the eye; probably having a pout in my face. Who breaks a pinky promise?

“…I’ve never been in love,” he blurts and I gawk at him.

_What?_

“Never?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh…” I look down, and let go of his arm.

“I really should go. You’ll need sleep. I can make Chris pick you up if you wish-“

“What? No,” I reject. I then step away for some space.

“I’ll just take a cab. It’s alright.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” I nod before I stagger towards the door still a giddy in my head. “Thanks for coming up with my wallet.”

“It was my duty to return it,” he stops by the door; a certain awkward silence falls as we wait for who’s to say the first goodbye.

“And thank you for taking care of me.”

“Do you feel better?”

I smile. “Much better.”

“Good.”

Another silence sets.

“Your promise will be safe with me,” I mumble and his lips curl slowly.

“And yours with me.”

Without thinking, I open my arms with no clue what I’m about to do with them. Derek freezes before the next thing I know; I’ve wrapped myself around his neck.

I notice he’s tense while he struggles to find a place to place his arms. I make myself comfortable and dig my face into his neck; his fragrance fills me, intoxicating me. He then slowly and easily softens; his shoulders sinks and his breath calms as his arms find their way around my back and pull me ever so slightly a little bit closer. I nuzzle him, but his body solidifies at once before he pulls away.

“Goodbye Stiles,” he tells his farewell before he opens the door.

I hold the door as he walks out. “Bye Derek…” I say before he departs down the hallway.

 

 

End of Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

The flight went fine. I've slept most of the time. Note the part,  _most of the time_ though. You see… I had a quite nice nap until some kid began to wail a couple seats behind me. He woke me up obviously, and pissed not only me, but around the entire plain.

However, I spent the last two hours to play Tetris and spill a couple tears over a touching movie by Derek.

Now, I’ve just collected my suitcase and off my way to the arrival departure.

I’m wearing a black and white sleeve raglan shirt, my worn up blue jeans and black converse. I’m back to my comfort zone, although I had nothing against wearing shirts. It could probably just be me, but I kind of thought I looked a lot more professional with it on. Especially the white one on last night's dinner. Well, I mean I looked professional when I wasn't beside Derek though.

However... Lydia is supposed to be waiting for me. That’s unless she’s late, which I hardly believe. Like, she has it to oversleep to then have a rather rushed morning on hurry for work. You think that she’ll be late, but regardless, she manages to make it just in time. 

It’s the only bad habit she has (if it's a bad habit at all.) Other than that, I can’t think of any. She’s kind of a perfect human being both in and out.

I trail my suitcase beside me as I walk through this hallway. I see her behind the railing and her face lights up by the sight of me before she waves; a splendid beam crosses her face.

“Stiles!” she calls out, oblivious about the fact that she’s the only one excited and shouting.

I grin before she dodges under the blockage that’s keeping us apart.

She’s wearing a brown leather jacket, cream and light blue flowery dress and brown boots.

I stop and open my arms before she runs into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my neck. I chuckle as I hug her tightly against me.

She smells like her favorite perfume, Juicy Culture – or was it Couture? However it’s: fresh, fruity, flowery and sweet.

“Missed me?”

“As if I’ve lost a limb,” she answers; a laugh trails out her mouth as we walk.

By the time we’ve located her baby blue bug car on the parking lot, I’ve already given her a short summary of my three days trip. I then pull the back door over my head and place my suitcase inside. Shutting it close, I walk around and climb in on the passenger seat before she starts the engine and we head off to our home.

“So what have you done while I was gone?” I ask.

“Worked. Watched a whole season of gossip girl. Slept… Then slept again.”

I scoff. “Nothing but the usual with other words…”

She gushes at me in disbelief and swats my arm. I jump as she hits me and rub the spot as if harmed while I laugh.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. And you? How did you survive three days without me? Who fed you? Have you eaten at all?”

_Yes, Derek made sure of that… At least on my last day._

“Yes, mom. I went to eat on Riverpark yesterday actually; a four stars restaurant. Very luxurious. And it didn’t at all hurt my wallet.”

She arches a brow at me. I see doubt from them. She’s unsure if I’m joking or telling the truth.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” I nod reassuringly.

During the flight, I decided - while watching Derek on the very small screen - that since no one would probably believe me if I told them who I went to dinner with, that I should just keep the small (ok, big) detail to myself.

I know Lydia’s one of my closest friends - I live with her, so we better be - but we don’t necessary have to _share_ everything. I mean…

“Mr. Hale paid for it.”

She rolls her eyes.

_See?_

“Mr. Hale? _Mister?_ What are on Stiles?”

“I’m not on anything? I’m telling you the truth…

"Yeah, right," she scoffs.

"When have I ever lied to you? Tell me one time.”

“Well, there’s that one time I had something between my teeth-“

“Nope. That’s not lying… That’s just _not_ telling.”

“Ok… Then what about that one time you said you loved me… We broke up the next day.”

“First of all… _If_ it was a lie-”

“It was a lie!”

“Nope-Hush now.” She gapes at me before I continue. “If it was a lie, then you’ve basically told me the same lie since you said it first. And second, I did love you, just not in the way you hoped.”

“I did love you on _that_ moment, but you made me un-love over the night.”

I arch a brow. “And how did I make you _un_ -love me?”

“You’re lousy in bed, Stiles. Literally.”

I blush. “How would you know that? We never came to that point.”

“Exactly.”

I laugh and she laughs along.

“You wanted me in bed?”

“I _did_ have you in bed. That’s the problem... You just slept on it, and nothing more.”

“You wanted me to do more?”

“Well, it was our third night _together_ …” She’s the one blushing now.

“Oh… If you really was that eager, you could’ve just said you wanted sex?”

“No one does that, Stiles.”

“That’s exactly what people does.”

“No… They don’t just say: I want you to sex me, without it to get weird.”

“Well, it got weird either way,” I chuckled, thinking back before she dives into another topic.

“Will you tell me how you got that lip? And that tiny bruise on your cheek? Did you kick someone’s ass?”

“I got mobbed by dozens of fans.”

“I’m serious Stiles.”

“Some girl managed to slap her forearm into my face…”

She doesn’t answer me, but I think she believes. I don’t really know. Right now, she’s just unreadable.

“So tell me about Derek. Or Mr. Hale… What’s up with that anyway?”

She takes me off guard and I stutter. “Uhm… Well, he doesn’t like to be called by his first name.”

Lydia scoffs while her eyes are on the road, deeply concentrated - well, deep enough at least.

“Ok… How was he?”

“I told you. He was just as expected. Eh… Can we stop by KFC?” I try to change the subject, but she doesn’t seem to budge from it.

“No. I’ve already made dinner. It’s waiting to be eaten. Now back to the subject... What do you mean by expected? Was he kind? Is he single? Was he easy to talk with?”

_Definitely not the latter._

I roll my eyes. “He was polite.”

“And?”

I shrug. “He’s single…”

“Hm,” she huffs approvingly before a comfortable silence dances waltz around us.

“I bought you something from New York though.”

Her face lights up as a wide smile appears on it. She doesn’t look at me, but I know I’ve piqued her interest.

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” I smile.

“Stiles…” she whines.

I chuckle, but don’t give in into her pout.

We continue to talk about numbers of tings before we arrive to our shared apartment.

I place my suitcase by my drawer and open it to pick up the sachet tucked in the bottom. I then walk out to follow the sound of Lydia rummage in the kitchen. I then see her by the time I've located the dining room.

She places two dishes with lasagna upon the table, she tilts her head with a smile before she vanishes into the kitchen and returns with a bowl of salad.

“Bon appétit,” she nods and waves towards a chair.

I smile to her before I hand over the tiny blue sachet and her eyes widens before she crumbles and pouts adorably.

“Awww…”

I roll my eyes at her, but secretly appreciate her reaction. She opens it and spills the silver content into her palm. It was a necklace with a tiny teardrop-looking charm of moonstone.

“Stiles…” she gushes before she puts it on around her neck. “How does it look?”

I scoff. “Good.”

She approaches and gives me another hug while I rub her back as a small chuckle leaves my broad smile.

“I love it. Thank you… I should give you something back. You always buy stuff to me when you’re away. I never leave, so I never get the chance to do the same.”

“Just make food and stuff, it’s enough,” I smile before she laughs and pushes me down the chair.

“Sit and eat before the food gets warm.”

“You mean cold.”

“Exactly,” she takes a seat across the table before I stuff a big bite and moan.

“It’s good.”

“Better than Riverpark?”

“Very close,” I say before I burst into a laugh.

I don’t think anything can beat Riverpark. Ok, maybe there is, but that would be the food because I'm positive that nothing can beat what happened there.

“Want to watch a movie later?”

“Sure, but only if it’s not The Notebook.”

She groans. “It’s the best movie that’s ever been made.”

“I thought so too when I saw it the first time, but that was a hundred times before the last time we saw it. You’ve overused its magic.”

She doesn’t agree. “It’s magic is infinite. However, I thought we could watch one of Derek Hale’s movies since you interviewed him and stuff.”

I pause the fork just before it enters my mouth. I then tilt my eyes to her. “Which one?”

She curls her lips and furrows her brows while drumming the table with her fingers. “Ehm... I don’t remember. Let me check,” she leaves the table and to the living room.

Then my phone calls and I dig it up from my wallet to see ten unknown digits flash my screen. I wonder if I should answer or just ignore it. It’s probably just someone who’s calling the wrong number. I never give my phone number to people I don’t know or I don’t have the number to.

Lydia then returns into her seat and her eyes fall down to my phone. “Aren’t you gonna take that?”

And just like that, the call ends.

“It was just someone who got the wrong number.”

“How do you know? Besides, you could’ve answered either way to tell them whom number it belongs to, or they’ll just call again-“

My phone pings to have received a message.

“Or do that.”

I peek down and read: _I hope your flight went…_

Curious, I swipe my thumb across message and enter screen the code. The phone then sends me automatically to the message app.

 

* * *

 I hope your flight went well and that you’re safely returned to your apartment. I had a pleasant evening last night, and for that I have no one but you to thank, Stiles. Just in case, I’ve mistaken. Good afternoon, this is Miguel. I apologize for disturbing.

04:43 PM

* * *

 

 

I gawk at the message.

_What the actual fuck?_

“What is it, Stiles?” Lydia asks concerned before I collect my scattered equilibrium and clear my throat.

“It’s just Mr. Hale.”

She rolls her eyes at me before she continues to eat. _I'm glad I won't need to feel bad for lying._

I reread the message before I drop the fork down the plate to reply.

_Even on a text message he sounds like he talks._

 

* * *

 Good afternoon, Mr. Hale. Or Miguel as you’ve introduced yourself. Yes, you’ve got the correct number, but may I ask how you got it? I’m home and safe, thank you. The flight went well and the time passed fast. For that I have you to thank as well. (After Dark was quite entertaining.) Last evening can be discussed though, but thank you for the dinner. I still insist to pay you back.

04:47 PM

* * *

 

 

_Well, that cost me four minutes… What an effort to a text message._

I leave the phone down the table before I continue to eat in utter silence.

Lydia watches me intently for minutes, and now she just reminds me of _him_.

I try to act as normal as possible before she huffs and jump a slight on her seat as she remembers the movie.

She picks up a DVD from the table and hands it over to me.

I take it and look at the cover. It looks kind of one of those old-fashioned romantic clichés. It had a Pride and Prejudice touch to it. The movie’s called: Forlorn.

It seems sad… And looks sad.

“What do you think?”

“Will we cry?”

Yes, I said _we..._ Guys have hearts too; some has bigger than others. Mine is medium though… but sensitive.

“We’ll know when we see it.”

I nod and she beams.

Another message flashes my phone screen, feeding Lydia’s curiosity.

I look at her apologetically as I direct my intention back to the phone.

It’s not that we have anything against talking to someone on the phone during dinner. We use to do it a lot. Sometimes we have Scott on the speakers. And before, when we were addicted to candy crush, (since everyone had or still has that period) we ate dinner under dead silence except from the sound effects from the game.

That is what you can expect from the home of Stiles and Lydia, but when Derek pulled up his phone during our dinner last night, it just triggered my old-school self.

 

* * *

 With the technology we got today, you can get a lot of information about anyone through Internet. I got your number through Google. However, I’m glad to know you’re all right considering your condition last night. Are you feeling better? The dinner was my treat. You owe me nothing, Stiles. What will you discuss about yesterday?

04:53 PM

* * *

 Are you stalking me, Mr. Hale? 

04:54 PM

* * *

 

I smile at my response before I leave the food and eat the rest of Lydia’s lasagna. She then - without warning - spills salad on my plate, and then to herself while she arches a perfect plucked brow at my pout. I give in and eat it as well.

Chewing the green food, I look up and she gives me a small smile but she’s quiet though, probably trying to overwhelm me with discomfort so I’ll spill whom I’m talking with.

But that I’ve already said. So no lies told.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offer as I stand up from the table.

“Brown pop would be nice,” she smiles before I leave into our kitchen.

I open the fridge and dwell on the spot before I bend to grab a bottle of coke. With a quick detour to a cabinet for glasses, I return and pour both are glasses full.

Seated back on my seat, I peek down the phone. No message has come, and I regret my reply at once. On the optimistic side… Who knows? Maybe he can’t answer at the moment. Maybe he’s on an interview? I wonder if he'll ask her or him out as well...

The idea bothers me.

I write another message.

 

* * *

 I’m feeling much better, thank you. I didn’t mean that I wanted to discuss anything. It was a fine (a little out of the ordinary) night. I may have something else to ask though. When you said it wasn’t easy for you to trust anybody. Why did you make a movie that was based on bonding and trust when you don’t know how to? Isn’t it the point with making movies? Because it wants to convey something and so does the actors on it?

05:12 PM

* * *

 

 

I take a swig of the coke and crunch my face as the carbonic acid explodes in my throat like the atomic bomb in Hiroshima.

Lydia follows my moves, watching me every second from the sip and to the swallow.

“Spill it, Stiles,” she demands; my eyebrows lift in surprise.

“You want me to spill my coke?”

“Funny. Now, quit the bull and tell me who she is?”

“She?”

“You’ve met someone. Who is she?”

“No, I haven’t… Well, there was this girl on Starbucks, but nothing happened.”

“Oh? Then who are you texting poetry and love poems with?”

“I told you. It’s Mr. Hale.”

“When did you get so secretive?”

“I haven’t. You just don’t believe me.”

“So, you’re telling me the most famous and beautiful bachelor on planet earth, have your number and you his, and now you’re best friends after an interview?”

“Well, I just got his now. He found my number on Google. And we’re not best friends, just… acquaintances.”

She shakes her head and stands up while I receive a reply. She takes our empty dishes before she departs into the kitchen.

“You better tell me within the night.”

“But I’ve already told you,” I smile as I stand up and bring my glass with me to the couch. I then unlock my phone to read the message.

 

* * *

 Because you’re not used to something, doesn’t mean it’s extraordinary. Yesterday was the ordinary for me. That is if we look away from the part where I spend my evening with you. I’m just an actor, and I get paid to commit and bring life into a character for living. I would be lying if I told you I didn’t want to tell something by taking the roll. I hope it makes more sense if I say that I was more like Bumblebee than I was Miguel on that movie. You’re right to say that I don’t know how to trust others, because it’s true. I don’t. However, I’m working on it and trust you, Stiles, to keep my number to yourself.

05:17 PM

* * *

 

 

Hmmm… He’s more like Bumblebee?

On the movie Bumblebee couldn’t trust Miguel, so I guess it makes sense. Plus, he’s cold and impersonal as steel.

I was just about to answer when Lydia returns and collapse beside me before she turns her head aside and watches me.

“You need a shower,” she remarks and brushes her fingers through my hair before I dodge away.

“Are you saying I smell bad?” I ask. It wouldn’t make sense since I took a warm shower before I left the hotel this morning.

“You stink,” she crunches her nose before she laughs to then correct herself. “I meant that you should take a shower considering there’s a lot of germs on a plain, and you’re smearing it on my couch.”

I smirk and open my arms. “Who wants a hug?”

“I bet that girl you’re texting would like one.”

“Lydia… Are you jelly?”

She gushes. “So there _is_ a girl?” she confronts in victory. “Fjuh… What a relief. I thought you’d never move on. Is it serious? How long is it until you’ll move out? I would really use more wardrobe space.”

I drop my jaw before I pinch her side and she jumps with a squeak.

“I’m not going anywhere, so my wardrobe will remain mine. Keep your clothes off my territory.”

My phone then pings again and I’m quick to open it. A little too quick maybe…

 

* * *

 PS: I apologize. It wasn’t any of my attention to stalk on you.

05:19 PM

* * *

 

 

I smile, and feel a tingle far deep inside.

“You really are smitten about this mystery girl, aren’t you?”

I burst in laughter. Me, smitten on Derek Hale? That would be something.

I think about it again and a bold lump evolved on my throat. My laughter falters and my smile along with it as I swallow.

“I’m gonna take that shower now,” I stand up. Feeling all a sudden greasy by the thought of the plain and the one on the seat behind me having the cold.

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’ve already told you. It was just Derek wondering if I got home safe.”

“Yeah, yeah and I’m Meryl Streep’s daughter.”

I roll my eyes at her, getting really annoyed this time.

It’s like as if she’s poking a sleeping bear, oblivious about the fact she might tick it off. She should definitely just let the topic go. Especially when I’m telling the truth, and she refuses to believe me.

“Will you make popcorn and get the movie ready till I’m back?”

“Sure.”

I walk out from the living room and through the hallway that leads further to the bathroom. On my way inside, I peek down my phone and open the message app.

 

 

* * *

No worries :) And your number will be safe with me.

05:22 PM

* * *

 

 

I take around ten minutes in the shower until I’m done, and walk out with a pink towel wrapped around my waist.

“That’s my towel,” Lydia scolds at me as she was just on her way to her room.

“I forgot to bring mine before I went in.” I tilt my head down before a wolfish smile crosses my face. “If you really want it back, then fine,” I unwrap the damped garment from my waist before she staggers backwards with her hands in front of her eyes.

“Jesus, Stiles.”

“Well?” I hold her towel up on the air before I see her fingers part a slight before she grabs it.

“You’re such a boy.”

“And you’re such a girl?” I arch a brow as she walks pass me.

I shake my head with a smug smile before I squeak by a sudden whip on my butt.

I turn and she scowls at me before she enters her room. I then walk naked into mine, rubbing my left butt cheek before I open a drawer and dive down for underwear.

I pick up a black boxer shorts from Calvin Klein and quickly struggle it on before I dress myself with a black t-shirt and sweatpants.

After I’ve put on some white socks from Nike, I return to the living room where Lydia was, already seated on the couch. She’s changed into a large white and pink bunny sweater and I believe she’s wearing nothing but knickers underneath. She has also a pair of white knee socks, which is quite a tease for a guy’s eyes.

The curtains were closed: shutting the light from the sunset outside. The room was now only dimmed by a few candles, which was fragranced with vanilla - one of her favorite odors.

“I made two since I never get any before it’s gone,” she informs before she hands me over a bowl of warm popcorn. I can even smell the extra butter, causing my mouth to water.

I collapse down beside her and place my feet on the edge of the coffee table.

“Keep your feet off the table, Stiles,” she swats my legs before I place them down the carpet.

“They were never technically _on_ the table,” I emphasize and she rolls her hazel eyes at me, which was a friendly reminder of a certain someone with the same eye color.

She then leans back, finding herself a comfortable position before she presses play with the PlayStation controller, and the movie starts.

 

* * *

 

I try to hold back a sob, and succeed in doing so, although by pulling air through my runny nose gives me away.

Lydia sniffles, tears streaming down her face as a waterfall while she keeps pulling a new tissue from the Kleenex box upon her lap.

Her head is resting upon my shoulder while I hold protectively around her, looking at the TV screen and refusing myself to close my eyes as sneaky tears are waiting to spill from my waterline.

I fail by blinking though, and feel a tickle from the corner of my eye and down the corner of my nose. I wipe it quickly away with my shoulder before the credits starts to roll and the end song plays.

We stay quiet for moments before I sniff and sigh.

“Well, that was nice.”

I tilt my head down to Lydia. She’s curled into a small ball under my arm while her fingers has formed to small fists in front of her mouth; used tissue are tucked inside both of them before I chuckle and wipe a tear from her cheek.

“You alright?”

She nods.

“I just want to hug him…”

_He doesn’t like hugs… Or, I don’t think he does._

“How could she not pick him? There’s so much more to life than money! So what if he wasn’t rich? He was gorgeous!”

Now she just sounds like him when he said something around: _“Some things are more important than wealth.”_

I can even remember the sound of his tone and the timbre of his voice.

I shake my left wrist and check my watch. It’s 07:04 PM.

Luckily, it’s Friday and I won’t need to go to work tomorrow. I’ll have a good time to finish my article, and I won’t need to do it until either Saturday or Sunday.

I close my eyes and nuzzle Lydia’s hair. It smells like strawberry candy.

“I should unpack from my suitcase,” I say before I untangle myself from her, but she refuses and clamber around my arm as I stand up.

“No. I need something to cuddle with right now.”

I smile. “Are you sure you want me for that? I’m probably lousy at that too. A pillow will probably comfort you more.”

“Come on,” she whines, tugging my arm.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Were you offended?”

“ _I am_ offended,” I correct.

She rolls her eyes. “Touchy.”

“If only you knew…”

“Knew what?”

“How freakin’ good I am in bed.”

She burst into laughter and I pout, pulling my arm from her touch.

“Keep laughing because you’re never gonna get any of this,” I thrust the air between us.

“Are you challenging me, Stiles?”

I shiver.

That’s exactly what Derek said.

“No, because you don’t have a chance,” I huff, before I turn and Lydia jumps up on my back.

“Really? Prove me wrong,” she giggles before I freeze on the spot.

Did she just…

She jumps down from my back and I turn while she flips her long hair over her shoulder and cocks her brows up with a smug smile.

“Well?”

I’m stunned and speechless. “You want to…”

“You heard what I said.”

The idea stimulates blood to the man underneath and I feel him expand against the fabric of my boxer shorts.

No… She’s my best friend. It tempts, but we can’t. Or can we?

She cups my head with both her palms; a small smile appears on her face.

“Don’t overthink and make a big deal out of it, Stiles. Think of it as best friends with benefits. If it doesn’t work, then we stop. No biggie.”

Shit… She’s serious.

“No biggie,” I breathe out.

“Look, we’re both single. We don’t really go out to meet others. I haven’t had sex for quite some time and neither have you... I think it could be a good idea, filling one another’s need. Unless that New York girl-“

I rush on and reunite our lips after years, just to make her stop talking before it smoothens from a crash and into something more passionate.

The kiss was familiar, soft, but not as satisfying as it ones used to be. Maybe I’m just rusty…

I brush the tip of my tongue along her soft bottom lip, asking for permission and she gladly opens her mouth and welcomes me with her tongue.

I bend my knees as I grab her thighs and she wraps her legs around my hips. I then detach our mouths within a sharp intake of air.

“Your room, or mine?”

“Yours,” she breathes before we kiss again; rough and gentle both in the same time.

_Am I really doing this?_

I rush towards my room and the door slams against the wall as we enter. I let her down and cup her face, watching her intently before she smile’s a playful, even cheeky smile, as she tugs the ends of my t-shirt, mutely ordering me to strip it off. And I do grant her that wish.

I raise my arms to grab the shirt from the back of my neck before I pull it over my head, feeling her warm palm caress me down my torso.

I toss the t-shirt down the floor before I bend down to catch her lips again. This time, I try to be gentle and caress her face as I kiss her deeper and longer. But somehow, she doesn’t seem to cooperate.

She’s rough, hungry and rapid as if she doesn’t want to make love, but to fuck.

With hasted moves, I peel off my socks as I feel her hands make their way to my hair, and grab a handful of it.

She tugs gently, and I can feel she’s eager. She’s quite clear about how she wants me. And so I try to please her and untie the knot to on my sweatpants before she stops me and pulls away.

“Let me do that,” she requests before she bends down to her knees, pulling the sweatpants along my legs on her way down.

I tilt my head to watch her, and the view is both disturbing and pleasant. Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it, and decide not to feel anything at all. You can say I’m rather frightened to feel something more, while she... well she just want sex. Plus - regardless the fact that this is probably every guy’s dream - I feel it’s wrong.

She palms my length through the thin garment and my body tenses, responding to her touch. I bite my lip and she smiles before she pulls the waistband and I spill out in complete exposure.

I gulp in both adoration and displease, and I can’t figure out which one I feel the most, but I do feel something though and that is her warm palm rim around my size before she lifts it and drag her tongue along my length.

I shiver and close my eyes before she tickles my tip teasingly with her tongue.

As I open my eyes again, I shudder in defeat as my mouth opens mirroring her before she takes me in her mouth and leads me further until her jaw muscles protest.

I reach out my hands and brush her hair away from her face as she repeats the process, her rhythm changing like a rollercoaster.

I feel both desire and relief as she pulls away.

I want to enjoy this, but I can’t look away from the fact that she’s my best friend and how much this really is wrong.

My head is so confused right now. It’s like a part of me wants this, but the other don’t.

She sucks my head and uses her hand cleverly before she lifts me up and pin me against my stomach. For a second I believe she’ll drag her tongue along me again, but to my surprise, she looks me in the eye as sucks my balls and for that I’m in awe to her, begging on my knees for her to finish me off. I need release…

But as I expected, she stops as she has made me eager and hard, leaving me wanting and panting before she wipes her mouth from saliva she has moistened my size with.

 I offer her a hand and help her up before I punch my lips into hers, invading her mouth with no mercy. Taken aback, she holds her breath before she moans and warm air brushes my cheek as she links her arms around my neck and our tongues dance tango.

I place my hands on each side of her waist before they slowly trail further down to her behind, cupping her butt cheeks. I then push her closer to me, grinding ever so slightly onto her, pleasing myself while I feel her soft breasts and nipples poke through her sweater.

“You’re not wearing a bra?”

“I never wear a bra when I’m home,” she answers absently, too into what is happening to give a damn of everything else.

I smirk and sneak my hands underneath sweater, feeling the laced knickers against my palms.

“Hands up.”

She does as I say and I pull her sweater up and over her head, curling it like a ball and trash it down the floor.

I scan her body hungrily before I lead her backwards to the end of the bed until she falls.

Breath taken, she watches me as I caress her down her sides and I feel her shiver under my touch. I then skate my fingers upon her belly before she arches for more.

_You can do this, Stiles._

Hovering over, I leave a kiss between her breasts, and I trace my lips down until I set another kiss. Further, I follow a straight path before I finally hear a soft moan by being down bellow her navel, nearing a certain place I’m sure she’d like me to play on.

But as a tease, I move back up and she stirs uneasy beneath me.

I brush hair away for from her fair face before she reaches up, but before she could, I catch her arms and place them above her head, pinning them on place with one hand.

I kiss her softly and she lifts her head for more of me while I pull away.

I give her a small smile before I use my vacant hand to pinch her chin and lead her to turn her head aside.

I kiss her left collarbone before she moans again as I drag my tongue along the protruded bone. I kiss and suck her up to her neck before I nipple her earlobe; a whimper escapes her lips.

I let go of her chin and stroke her underneath, and she gushes by the touch.

“More,” she begs and I smirk against her skin before my lips find their way back to her swollen ones while my fingers slides underneath her white-laced knickers.

I know exactly where to touch her as I recall our intimate conversation a few months back. However, I never thought I would actually have use to the knowledge and now my heart is racing. I’m no longer sure I’m doing this for me or just for her.

I use my middle finger and make circular moves an inch beneath her clit and she turns her head to gasp for air.

I breathe in her scent, it’s all sugar sweet. But suddenly another odor corrupts my nose; it’s unexplainable good, dark and sweet, and I know only one person with that scent.

I want to cry and hide, needy for comfort. What am I doing?

I kiss Lydia on her cheek softly before I move back to her neck and enter two fingers inside her.

She clenches her thighs and I pause until she releases and I move in deeper.

Increasingly, I go from gentle into ruthless until I hear her cry out my name.

“Stiles. Please…” she pants as I lower the pace and stroke a certain pillow soft spot.

“There’s no rush,” I murmur and kiss her jaw before she moves and grinds against my finger, searching for her release. But I withdraw my fingers out and let her arms go as I pull back.

“Please,” she cries out my name as I walk to my night table.

Without looking at her, although I know she’s watching me, I produce a foil packet and rip it open before I press the moistened condom out.

Then my subconscious appears, waving flustered at Lydia’s naked body and insisting me to actually enjoy it while I can.

_What’s wrong with you? This is Lydia… Of coarse you want to fuck her, Stiles._

I bite my lip and pinch the tip and drag it along my length before I walk back to the end of the bed where Lydia was lying, waiting for _me_ to pleasure her.

I pull a sharp breath before I peel off her knickers while she gladly stretches her legs up as I do so. I leave her knee socks on and grab her ankles before I spread her legs as if opening a gate.

I climb on the bed and shift so she’s straddling me, leaning on my propped-up knees, her feet on each side of my hips. Sliding my tip along her moistened slit, I feel the warm pool and she moans before I hover over, using my arms as support.

I look her in the eye as I move my hips so my shaft slowly presses against her entrance, teasing and pushing.

“You sure about this?”

A part of me wish that she’ll change her mind, as another one just wants to delve into a territory he has never passed before. But she nods and with that, I enter and the sensation I’ve forgotten welcomes me...

 

 

End of Chapter Four

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

I look up the white ceiling; nothing crosses or processes in my brain as I do so. I just watch it, lying quietly and waiting for the time to pass a decent time so I can wake up. Last time I checked, the clock was 05:46 AM. I think at least a quarter has passed since then, but as I check again, the digital clock shows 05:52.

I sigh.

Lydia is asleep beside me, her limbs are wrapped around my body like a burrito and I’m feeling both cold and warm, something between dry and wet…  I guess clammy would be the word for it.

However… I seem to be two-sided about everything. I’m both pleased and displeased about last night, and comfortable and uncomfortable thinking about it. It’s like I can no longer see the difference between right and wrong. Everything’s shaded and different. And all this after-

There he is again.

Derek Hale.

After Derek Hale.

I press my eyes, trying to shove him far behind my head.

Can’t I just have a break? Even during the sex, he appeared…

It was just a dinner and a chat on my hotel room. Why do I feel it was something more? And why am I still thinking of him? I’ll never meet him again anyway. He’s in New York, living in a mansion in Los Angeles and I’m all the way back here in Seattle.

What a friendship huh?

But then, he actually went through the bother and searched my name on Google to find my number. He was worried, and he wanted to know I was fine. And he trusts me! Derek Hale trusts _me_. With that I should be honored considering that he doesn’t trust many due to his trust issues. Or so he says… But why would he lie about such?

Whatever… No matter what, I - for some unexplainable reason, long for the guy and have no clue why.

Then an unwelcome idea enters my mind, confusing me more.

_No… Stop. Shush!_

But as I tell myself that, afigure evolves in my head and it’s my naked self with a large leaf covering my manhood. He rises from his sleep and stretches his arms yawning with a smile. He greets to me with a graceful nod.

_Could I really be smitten by Derek? Could I be… Nope. I’ve always liked girls._

I drag a deep breath down my lungs. I want to shift and turn. In fact, I need to shift and turn considering I no longer feel my right arm. But I don’t want to wake Lydia from her slumber.

I tilt my head to one side and watch her.

She seems so peaceful, using my shoulder as a pillow.

A good thing that came out of our event last night though; she said she take back about me being lousy in bed. I never really meant that I was amazing in the first place. It was just an innocent joke when it all turned serious.

Best friends with benefits? I shake my head at the idea.

I look up the ceiling again and think things through.

Not Derek, but Lydia and me.

After the sex, we talked it out for one or two hours, such as what I thought and if we should carry it on or not. I told her the truth and said it was weird and far from my comfort zone considering she’s my best friend. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Thankfully, she understood, and suggested that we could focus on my needs and go from there. In that, she meant that we could do it whenever I feel generous or say I want to. But I’m not a needy guy when it comes to sex... Not anymore anyway. And I don’t really want to have it unless it has a meaning or it’s with someone I have intimate feelings for. I have my right hand for the rest.

Lydia is like every man’s dream woman on planet earth, and I’m baffled with myself that I’m not more excited about this than I should be. Am I making a big deal out of it though? It’s just sex… a certain activity between a male and female.

 _Maybe the reason is because you like-_ I scatter the idea in my head before I settle into a decision and awake.

Slowly and cautiously, I untangle Lydia off me, limb by limb. I tuck her in my sheer white duvet, covering her nudity before she moans to the absence of my body. As a solution to the problem, I pick up a pillow from the floor and place it beside her. She then shifts moments later and wraps her arms around it, her expression ease.

I walk around the room; the floor feels cold underfoot. I pick up my sweatpants with Lydia and my clothes, scattered on the floor. I take them on without underwear before I make my way out the bedroom.

I then turn and watch her on my bed as I close the door gently after myself.

Most of the house lights except from the living room are still on since we basically never left the bed once we got there last night. Well, I did go for a drink before I slept, which I’m glad I did or else we would’ve been sleeping with the candles alight on the living room.

I walk to the kitchen and open a shelf for a clean glass. Pulling the faucet over the sink, I fill myself a glass of water before I turn, resting my behind against the kitchen bench. Looking absently down the floor, I take a swig to moisten my throat.

What if I really _am_ gay?

I’ve never had anything against it, but I’ve never thought of myself as one. Sure I’ve had a man-crush on Derek since forever, but Scott has a man-crush on David Beckham, and he’s with Kira. So why can’t I have one without being gay?

Scott would probably be swept off his feet if he met Beckham in person. I’m probably just having the after effects of meeting my idol, not mention given him a hug.

I take another swig as I make my way to the living room, taking a seat on the couch and reach for my phone on the coffee table. By pressing the home button, the screen beams and shows me a missed call from Scott. He’s probably just checking on me since he knows I’m back. Unfortunately, I was a little too distracted to pick it up, so I’ll call him back later. I’ll probably just piss him off if I do it now.

I unlock the screen and open the message app. I read through Derek’s conversation and mine before a clueless smile appears.

I then go into Wattpad for something short to read and entertain myself in the time being. I’m sure if I find something nice, the times go by…

 

* * *

 

“Stiles,” a light voice hums my name and it echoes to the walls in my head.

“Hey, why are you sleeping out here?”

I squint sleepily at Lydia as she arouses me with a soft caress on my cheek. I blink repeatedly before I look around.

I’m lying on the couch with my phone upon my bare chest. The curtains are now open, exposing broad daylight and I’m blinded once again. I guess I fell asleep. I don’t even remember I did. What time is it?

I press the home button on my phone and it’s 11:11 AM. _Jeez._

I sit up and rub my eyes; Lydia’s sitting beside me in her silky Victoria’s Secret robe. And it’s pink. Not her favorite color since it’s baby blue, but I guess it’s her second favorite.

“I woke up and went for something to drink. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could’ve taken my bed? It’s a lot comfier than this couch.”

“I know. I just didn’t know I would be able to fall asleep again.”

“Is it because of last night?” her voice is humble and I hear a hint of concern on it.

“What? No,” I shake my head. _Maybe a little…_

She looks at me warily, still quiet before I continue, brushing my fingers through my hair.

“I slept a lot on the plain, so my body was rested and woke up early. I couldn’t put myself back to sleep, so I went to have a drink. Then I figured I could read myself through the time. It’s nothing about the sex.”

“And that’s no silly excuse?”

“No silly excuse,” I assure her, although I’m actually lying. Well, a little bit since once awake; my head went on and on about how strange it was to fuck my best friend.

“I know we agreed to take your needs before mine considering that I’m probably more promiscuous than you, but if you’re really uncomfortable about-“

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have to get used to the idea,” I then turn my head to meet her eyes. “Don’t you feel it’s little strange?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Am I weird of I don’t?”

“Honestly, you’re always weird.”

She swats my arm and I chuckle. “Ok, ok… you’re not _weird_. You’re just special,” I correct myself while I tense my body, ready to receive another slap, but she squints for moments before she shifts and lean her back against the couch.

“Special in the good way, I suppose.”

“Of course in the good way. Last night was nice.”

Her mood softens and turns her body to face mine, resting her elbow upon the couch ridge and then her cheek against her knuckles.

“Good. I thought so too.”

“Yeah, kind of got that after your confession.”

“Don’t hold it against me,” she smiles before she continues. “So you remembered…”

“I think I’ll remember for a long time. When does Lydia Martin ever confess that she’s wrong?”

“No, not that. You remembered where I said I liked to be touched.”

I shrug. “Just something I pick up along the way. Quite a luck actually, since I never really listen to what you say otherwise,” I smirk before she tries to repress a smile on her face, but fails.

“So how do _you_ like to be touched?”

Taken off guard, I gawk at her. How am I supposed to answer that? Gladly, she relents, letting me off the hook.

“I noticed you didn’t really reach your edge.”

“I-I did.”

“A small orgasm yes, but nothing compared to mine. If we do this again, I’d like to offer the same amount of pleasure. That way it’ll be fair.”

I flush and she notices, pinching my cheek amused before I shrug her off with my shoulder. I then remember the missed call from Scott and open the green phone app, pressing his name on my way up from the couch.

“Ehrm… Scott called me last night. I’m just gonna call him back.” I announce while she looks at me confused.

“Why leave at all? Use the speaker. I want to talk too.”

I dwell, but give in, turning it on before I hear the third ring cut as Scott on the other line answers.

“Ey, bro… I saw your call last night. What’s up?” I speak while Lydia’s watching.

“Uhm…”

_Oh no._

Blood drains from my head.

It can’t be…

I look down the phone screen and it shows the ten digits I haven’t saved into my contacts yet.

“Hello, eh… _Bro_?”

“Who’s that?” Lydia asks before I turn off the speaker immediately.

Placing the phone against my ear, I feel my heart pump up my throat and blood racing through my body.

“G-good morning, _Miguel_.”

“Miguel? Who’s Miguel?”

I ignore Lydia and depart into the toilet.

“Good morning to you too, Stiles.”

“Stiles!” Lydia calls after me but I close the door and lock it in case she intrudes.

“I’d prefer if you called me Derek,” I hear him say, his voice calm and I feel warm by listening to it. I think I’ve missed it, but I would never say that to anyone.

“I thought you preferred _Mr. Hale_ , Mr. Hale,” I smile teasingly.

“True that, but bearing in mind the fact that you just called me _bro_ , I thought we were friends now.”

Crimson paints my cheeks and I take a seat on the toilet for support.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you at all. I meant to call a friend.”

“Not friends then, Mr. Stilinski?”

“No, no… Wait. We are?”

“Are we not?” I hear amusement in his voice, and picture an ever so slightly small smile on his perfect face.

Flustered, I move on to another topic.

“I apologize for disturbing you. I hope you aren’t in an interview or in a meeting.”

“No need to apologize, Stiles. I’m doing neither of them.”

“Oh, good.”

I hear water, and it piques my interest.

“So where-I mean… Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing?”

“If you must, I’m in the bathroom, taking a bath.”

I flinch, and I too could use a cold bath.

“Oh. Well, I’m on the toilet,” I blunt out before I stutter in utter embarrassment and I hear him laugh.

“No. I-I didn’t mean that. Well, yes. But not in the way you think.”

“Would you mind to enlighten me, Stiles?”

I can’t breath. I think I’m panting and that will only give him the worst idea in mind.

I close my eyes and pinch my nose bridge.

“The reason to my current location would be, uhm… Because I thought it would be the best place for privacy.”

I hear him burst out the second time, and my head explodes. The sound of his laughter and my nerves… It’s like alcohol in my system.

My body is in unbearable heat, and I’m prisoner in my own vessel.

I literally just delivered him the most disturbing thought in a gourmet plate: A one armed Baby Octopus with a Milk Burrata.

_Oh God._

I’ve disgusted myself…

I press my eyes harder and I think I’m crying, or about to be.

“No… I didn’t mean that either. I meant privacy as for talking to you. Not anything else like using the toilet or doing something on the toilet. I…” I bring my head to my hand in defeat.

“I think I should just stop talking. I’m so sorry.”

“No, please. Don’t.” I stay quiet and listen. “No one has amused me as much as you’ve done in such long time.”

“I’ll take that as a complement.”

“It was meant to be. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I hope you’re not upset.”

“Embarrassed and ashamed would be the right words for what I feel right now.”

He chuckles softly again. “I’m glad to receive a call from you, although it never was meant for me.”

A small smile appears on my face. “You are?”

“Indeed. I tried to call you yesterday myself, but you never answered. Of course, until I texted you.”

“I didn’t know who it was.”

“And you didn’t think of taking the phone to find out?”

“Uhm,” I curl my lips, feeling like a errant child being confronted about if I took a cookie from the cookie jar or not.

“No…” I mumble.

I can’t see it, but I feel a smile conjure up his face. It’s a soul-calming picture to behold. I want to reach out my hand and touch, but I know he’s six hours away, and the thought brings a frown on my face.

“So how do you do, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Friends call me, Stiles. I thought you should know,” I answer before his deep chuckle sends a cold down my spine while I feel a certain heavy weigh clamber around the muscle that pumps blood through my veins. Suddenly I’m cold while I feel weird tingles everywhere. A confusing feeling... Something I haven’t felt since when I thought I was in love with Lydia.

“How are you doing, Stiles?” he corrects himself and I just want embrace myself and crumble into a small ball and hide under my thick comforter.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you. And you Mr. Hale?”

“People I like call me Derek.”

“Do you like me though?” The question slips from my tongue, leaving a bittersweet after taste.

I wait.

“A matter of fact, I do like you, Stiles”

I blush and squeak inside my head.

“Is this where you give me permission?”

“Did you ever care if you were allowed to?”

I smile, and somehow I think he knows.

“I think not,” he answers his own question before I bite my bottom lip.

“Stiles? I need to use the toilet.”

_Of course, Lydia… Of course you do._

I stand up and unlock the door. By the time I open it, Lydia stumbles in and falls on all her four.

She’s been eavesdropping!

I scowl at her before she stands up on her feet with an innocent smile. I walk out and she enters before I hear the door shut after me.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say as I walk to the living room.

“Don’t mention it. How has your day been so far?” he asks while I take my seat down the couch, crossing my legs like a monk.

“I just woke up, but so far it’s been humiliating.”

“Please don’t feel that way… If you ask me, it has been unexpected and entertaining.”

_Unexpected? Well, he should know all about that._

“If you were on my shoes, you’ll probably think differently.”

He chuckles. “Have you slept well?”

“I’ve slept better.”

“How come?”

I shrug, although he can’t see me. “Had a lot in mind I guess.”

“Is it something you want to share?”

Oh, if only he knew…

I want to share everything that has passed my mind since we’ve met, but it’s obvious I can’t. Most of it is just emotions I can’t put down in words, and then some of it is too inappropriate to share. Plus, I don’t want to scare him away…

“Uhm, not really, but I have a question.”

“Don’t you always?” he sounds humored, and I take it as my cue to ask.

“Uhm… What is your opinion to friends with benefits?” I ask, trying to lower my voice so Lydia won’t hear me from the bathroom.

“Friends with benefits? Between who may I ask?” I can hear water spill and splash, and if I’m right, he’s standing up from the tub.

Mentally, I shut the door on my fingers so the mental pain overpowers my mind’s wish to imagine him naked.

“Stiles, do you have this kind of relationship with someone?” he asks, displease radiating from his voice and through my phone, like acid to my ears. I’m sweating. It’s like he’s confronting me with a murder.

I don’t want to lie to him. I haven’t from the start, and I like to keep it that way. Honesty last the longest, isn’t there a quote saying that?

“Eh, what do you think of the idea?” I avoid his question.

“I dislike it.” I blink absently at his short answer. That’s it?

“May I ask why?” I ask carefully as if scared for him to bite, although we’re thousands of miles apart.

I then hear him leave the phone before I hear a tone play.

“What does sex mean to you, Stiles?” he inquires; his voice echoes as if a God preaching and I know I’m on the speaker while he’s drying his body.

My mouth waters by the idea.

Shaking my head, I pull a sharp breath before I exhale.

“Me? Uh… Sex means sex.”

“Hm…” he doesn’t sound pleased, more like disappointed actually. “Nothing more?”

“Should it be?”

I know there’s more to it, but I want him to answer this one.

“Don’t you think it should?”

“I don’t know… What does it mean to you?”

“More than just the action.” I bite my lip as I listen closely.

“I think of it as an activity between partners with deep feelings for one another. An activity where you share a special moment with someone with mutual affection towards you as you to him.” I furrow my brows. “I mean _her_ ,” he corrects himself quickly before he moves on.

“My point is that you’re on a vulnerable state when you are to create an intimate scene with someone. I think when you first expose yourself in that kind of way, it should be with someone who cherishes you fully. It’s meant to go wrong if you are to share that part of yourself with a friend who can’t offer you more than the sex.”

“Unless you’re both into impassive sex…” I add, before I hear him take the phone and turn off the speaker. His voice is clearer and louder now.

“I guess if you’re into that, but are you, Stiles?”

“I never said it was about me?”

“Why else would you ask me about this?”

“I… I don’t know. I was curious?”

He sounds angry. I don’t know why, and I definitely don’t like it.

“Very well. Good.”

_Good?_

I feel the conversation has come to its end. His mood swing has kicked in. He’s clipped, and his voice is sharp, I’m scared to cut myself. I don’t feel like talking more either... Plus, I need to talk to Scott.

“I have to go…”

“Are you asking for permission?”

“N-no.” I frown and bite my nails. I feel guilty… like as I’ve betrayed him in some way, but I don’t know which way.

“I was just informing you that I have to end this call.”

“I see.”

How did it turn so intense all of a sudden? Now he’s mad at me. I’m positive about it.

“Ehm… Bye.”

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

And I end the call.

 

 

End of Chapter Five


	6. Chapter 6

I’ve just finished work and the clock is around four.

Lydia on the other hand has the last shift so she won’t come home until tonight, around ten pm.

However, because I’m the one to head back home first, I got the task to buy food. So right now, I’m on my blue jeep, just outside Whole Foods Market with a long list that Lydia has written in my pocket.

I twist the key underneath the wheel and the engine cease before I open the door and climb out. Quickly, I lock it before I stroll into the grocery store.

The slide-doors open as I approach and I pick up a cart on my way before I pass the auto-swingy-gates.

Summoning the folded list from my back pocket, I start from the top and work my way to the bottom.

Gladly, Lydia has this perfectionist gene when it comes to grocery lists. It’s all written down after which department the goods are from, so I won’t need to walk back and forth for the one item to another.

The list reads apples, bananas and frozen mixed berries, so I figure I will be starting on the fruit department. I stop by the apples, and meet my first dilemma.

Does she want red apples or green apples?

I look down the list again with a sigh.

* * *

Produce department

Apples x 8

Bananas

Frozen mixed berries x 3 packs

Honeydew

Watermelon

Pineapple

Green grapes

Oranges x 4

Avocado x 2

Tomatoes x 6

Broccoli x 2

Cauliflower (it looks like a white broccoli, if you don’t remember…)

Carrots

Salad

Onion x 2

Asparagus

Peas x 2 packs

Cucumber x 2

One red and yellow bell peppers

…

* * *

 

 

And that’s only in the fruit and vegetable department.

I mean… she bothered to write that she wanted a red pepper, and a yellow pepper. Why couldn’t she just add the tiny detail of which color she wants her apples to be? Is it that difficult? And what’s Honeydew? Is it something to do with honey? Because I'm sure that it doesn’t belong in this department…

I look down the pile of red and green apples and settle into the decision of taking four of each color. If she isn’t satisfied, her inaccuracy will be the one to blame and not me.

I walk around and slowly fill my cart with fruits and greens until I move on to the meat department, tossing a few packs of chicken fillets and pork before I add a frozen pizza and French fries as I pass the frozen goods area. I then walk further to the dairy products for such as milk and eggs before I move on to the house-cleaning products for dishwasher tablets, and so on to the canned goods.

Then I’ve reached my favorite department…

The junk food department.

I toss different types of potato chips from the ordinary Pringles, the sweet-sour type, Cheez Doodles, Doritos and classic Lays.

Checking the list for the next stop, I scan Lydia’s handwriting and cease at the last halt before I can finally go to the cashier and head home.

I gulp.

Is she for real?

 

* * *

Feminine hygiene department

_I know, I know… but pretty please??? I need only these three things._

Gillette Venus razors

Always night bind (it’s marked with six drops)

Tampons x 4 packs

_Thank you. x_

* * *

 

 

I… I can’t cross over to that area?

She’s crazy to even think I’ll do that. It’s a department made for women… It’s even named for it: _Feminine_ hygiene department.

I dwell on the spot before I give in with a sigh.

She’ll owe me a big one by doing this.

Taking the cart handle, I push and begin to walk, searching for a clean, light and colorful department.

By the time I get there, I search for the razors and quickly grab a few blue ones before I move on quickly to the Always bind with six drops-thing.

Six drops?

What does that even mean?

I look at all the soft square packs. They have it in different colors and brands. How can Lydia actually believe that I’ll be able to find the one she wants? I think this girl trusts me too much.

As I see some has fewer teardrops things than the other, I slowly understand the pattern and pick up a dark blue pack with _Always_ printed on it in white.

Really, I just want to get away from this area as soon as possible, so I make my moves wise and quick.

I only have one last thing to buy on the list, and I furrow my brows as I read it.

Four tampons…

That tells me nothing.

I look up and see all the different colors and names.

She hasn’t given me any hints to which one she wants on this one. Does she want the pink ones? Blue ones? Neon green ones? And does she want Libresse? Or O.b.? Or the very cheap ones?

I look around, hoping no one’s watching me.

I then pick an orange package, then a blue one since it’s her favorite color. So on a pink one, just in case it’s what she wanted before I pick the same colors from another brand.

I thought of it as a smart solution…

If I buy all these, I’m sure I buy the right one among the ones in my arms, guaranteeing that I won’t need to return to this area again.

I reach out my arm for a blue package on the top shelf whilst I hold dozens of others with my other…

But for some reason, I turn my head and meet the bold hazel gaze of Derek Hale, standing behind a grocery cart, watching me.

“Stiles,” he says, sending a shiver down my spine.

I gape at him, my lips apart, no words escaping them as the tampons spills from my arms along with some from the shelf.

_I think I might faint…_

I gulp and watch him as fear, embarrassment and excitement - all tangled into a mixture of anxiety - brings tears into my eyes.

I look down and see colorful packages scattered around my feet before I toss the tampons remaining in my arms down to my cart.

 _Please make this into a bad dream… Just please, make this into a bad dream,_ I keep telling myself while I bend down and struggle to pick up the packages as my fingers has turned into ten thumbs, dropping everything I pick up.

I feel my body temperature increase as sunburns appear on my cheeks, feeling his eyes on me.

_He’s here? Why is Derek here? Why is he in Seattle? In a grocery store? Don't he like... have someone to do that for him?_

I look up again, and he’s still standing there.

_Did he follow me here? Track my phone? Pffh… Don’t be stupid, Stiles. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t care less about you._

I keep picking up the packages around the floor before I see a pair of black designer shoes in front of me. I freeze as he bends down to help me out before I tilt my head and lock my eyes with his.

_Those eyes…_

My desire summons a Victorian fan and opens it delicately with a small whip while he places the back of his other hand dramatically over his forehead.

My eyes quiver at Derek's in silence. It feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve stared into them when really… it has only been six days.

Is it weird if I say I’ve missed him?

“What a coincidence to meet you here,” he says softly and I feel a cold crawl down my arms as I see a soft smile transform on his face.

Something tells me that he’s referring to something else. I have it on the tip of my tongue, and it bothers me that I can’t point out what…

My desire is now hiding his face behind the fan from the nose and down, eyes fluttering flirtatiously to Derek. _So gay…_

He’s wearing a white shirt with the three last buttons open and a pair of black trousers.

His hair is unruly, but perfect in the same time... And his scent - it’s still as bewitching and mesmerizing as I remember it to be.

It’s frustrating to watch him. Like Lydia said, he’s gorgeous and I’m starting to think I really am gay. At least for this one guy…

I gulp and look down to pick up the tampons before he picks up a couple and hold it out for me.

“It’s for Lydia,” I explain and take it quickly before I stand up and throw it down my cart.

“It never really crossed my mind that you would have use for them,” I hear him chuckle before I bring my hand to the back of my neck and turn to him.

I don’t know what to feel… Somehow I’m both glad and angered. I mean, how can he just show up? Is he trying to give me heart attach?

After Saturday, it took me everything not to call him again and apologize for somewhat pissing him off. And when I succeeded, it took me my whole Sunday not to text him.

Not until _after_ I published my article on Monday, I finally felt the guilt, confusion, longing and daydreams ease, and I was perfectly fine throughout the week until now…

I keep massaging my nape, biting my lip as I do so before I see his eyes tilt from mine and down to my lips. I stop immediately, having a feeling that he dislikes it before I gulp and cross my arms.

“So… you’re in Seattle,” I mumble.

“I am.”

“How long have you been here?” I ask before his grimace falters as his eyes trail down to the floor, as if he can’t look me in the eye with what he has to say.

“I came in Sunday…”

My brows lifts before I nod curtly to his answer.

So he has been in Seattle for four days, and he hasn’t told me he was here at all? I mean, I know that he’s not obligated to tell me anything, but why didn’t he? He knew I lived here...

“How come you’re here?”

“Family,” he answers shortly and I nod again while he observes my reaction intently.

Family... hm. I guess I understand.

His family lives in a huge area just outside town. I don’t really know much about them, but they too live in a mansion by the lake. Derek was already rich when he was born… Both his parents are doctors.

However, I still think he could’ve told me he was nearby. I know family is more important than friends. I wouldn’t like  _nag_ if I knew he wanted to have family time. Now I start to wonder if we still are friends at all…

“How long are you staying?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

I purse my lips into a line as I cross my arms tighter in discomfort. I’m officially angered and offended. It’s not even weird I am.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I mumbled my question before I see a young female approach us, holding goods in her arms.

“Derek,” she calls.

Her hair is warm brown like her eyes, and her lips are full and plump. She’s smaller than Derek and me, and she’s pretty - and fit.

Maybe he’s bringing a girl home? But if that's case... Did he find someone within six days? Because if not, then he lied during my interview. What other lies has he told me? His secret?

“Look at what I found,” she beams while she tosses the goods down Derek’s cart, holding only a brown jar up. “Nutella! Remember when we emptied a whole jar when we were kids?” she asks with a light giggle.

Kids?

How long have they known each other?

Maybe she was his childhood friend?

I frown, but try to repress it so Derek, who’s been watching me all this time, won’t notice. He then hesitantly directs his attention from me and to the girl. He smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s his collected and stilted self as usual...

“Cora, meet a friend of mine,” Derek introduces me, and I’m surprised that he still calls me a friend. I thought him not telling me being in Seattle was a sign of him defriending me.

“Stiles, this is Cora, my younger sister.”

I blink and stutter.

Sister?

Somehow it’s a relief to know that he isn’t… _taken._

“Oh… A friend? I didn’t know you had any, Derek,” Cora teases as I reach out my hand to her.

I can see a small blush conjure on Derek’s cheeks as he locks his orbs to mine again, but only for a second before I look at Cora.

“Hey, Stiles,” she beams as we shake hands. “I’m glad to meet a friend of Derek’s. It’s not often that happens… I don’t actually think that has happened. _Ever._ ”

“Cora,” he warns her, but she doesn’t seem to be scared or affected at all. She’s immune to him.

But I’m not…

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I smile politely before I let her hand go.

“Have you guys been friends for a long time?” she asks and I feel I’ll be the one to answer this one since Derek doesn't seem to be having a good time. He looks like he just wants to get away. And I grant him that wish and make my answer short.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. We met each other a week ago in New York.”

“Really?” her eyebrows rise and she seem interested to know more, but Derek stirs and catches both our attention.

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Don’t be rude,” she scolds and Derek’s lips purse into a fine grim line.

She’s quite a daredevil… Like, I wouldn’t dare to take that tone to him or do anything to tick him off in generally. He’s quite intimidating when he’s not on a good mood.

“Excuse him… He’s not the friendly type of person, but that you probably know already.”

“The idea has crossed my mind,” I add with a smile before it withers by meeting Derek’s murderous gaze.

I gulp and find comfort in his sister’s smile.

“I like you. You’re cool.” I blush as she chuckles and feeds on the satisfaction of making Derek angry, who's flustered to see us getting along. 

“You should come to us for dinner tonight.”

Taking off guard, I stutter.

Me?

Dinner?

Again?

With him?

 _And_ his family?

Oh I don’t think that would be a good idea… We saw what happened last time.

“I don’t know-“

“No, please… It would’ve been fun to get to know you. I’m sure mom and dad will love to meet one of Derek’s friends who’s…”

“…A commoner?” I look at Derek while I say it.

“What? No? I mean, down to earth and not a snob like this guy has turned into,” she points by cocking her head aside to Derek as I notice his jaw clench, peeved.

She’s really pushing it.

And I love her for it.

“I’m making Caesar salad for appetizer, then Chicken curry with rice for the main course... So on home made pistachio ice cream with chocolate sauce for dessert. Interested?” she smiles broadly.

“That sounds delicious.”

“Then come and taste how delicious it really is.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude a family dinner,” I flicker my eyes from her and to her big brother.

Then Cora scoffs. “That’s bull…”

“Cora...” Derek warns again before she rolls her eyes at him. “If Stiles doesn’t want to-“

“Oh, I know Stiles wants to,” she smirks before it falters as she scowls at Derek. “But he’s scared,” she snarls at him. “You don’t really look gregarious. Be polite. Jeez, he’s _your_ friend.”

Derek’s lost look is priceless, and somehow I start to think he doesn’t know how cold and unwelcoming he can be.

I blush and try to repress a chuckle by holding my breath.

“It would be an honor to have you as my guest, Stiles,” Cora smiles and I honestly don’t think she’ll give up unless I find a good reason to bail out on this dinner.

“Tell him Derek,” she orders, elbowing him and it’s a strange sight to see someone be so casual and unceremonious around him. That he hasn't exploded yet is unbelievable.

“Uhm… Please, Stiles. Would you like to join us for dinner this evening?” Derek asks.

“ _That's i_ _f you like to have a stomach ache for rest of the week and such,”_ he mumbles to himself, but loud enough for Cora and me to hear.

I chuckle while Cora scowls at him.

I clear my throat and smile before I coyly look down the tiled floor.

Does he really want me to come though? I mean... is he just asking because his sister insists?

“Cora, could you excuse us for a moment? I would like a word with Stiles.”

_Uh-oh…_

“Not until I’m sure he’s coming tonight.”

“He is.”

I am?

I look up with my big brown eyes widening at Derek.

“Now, will you please give us a minute?”

Cora squints at him with a tiny pout. “Just don’t scare him away. Promise me that, and I’ll leave.”

Derek sighs. “I won’t scare him away.”

“Good,” she smiles to me and nods curtly as a farewell before she turns on her heel and strolls away.

Once gone, the silence falls around us and I bite my bottom lip, sucking and chewing on it as distraction from the awkwardness.

Well... At least he won’t scare me away. He promised his sister that… so now he can prove to me if he can keep a promise or not. But what does he want to have privacy for?

“...I apologize for that.”

“She’s nice,” I give a small smile, but it withers as I see no humor on his face.

“That could be discussed,” his voice is sharp, and I cringe in discomfort before he pulls a deep breath to calm.

“I apologize for myself too. I should’ve told you that I was around. I truly am sorry, Stiles.”

I twiddle my thumbs before I build the courage to meet his eyes and stay cool at the same time.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you had to tell me or anything... I understand. You wanted to spend time with your family.”

“Do you really?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I furrow my brows in utter confusion.

“Do you really understand why I kept it from you?”

I shrug.

Does that mean he planned it?

He didn’t tell me in purpose?

If he had a specific reason to not tell me, then he didn’t want anything with me involved... That’s worse than to be forgotten.

The thought brings a frown to my face.

“Well… I came up with a conclusion.”

“And what is that, Stiles?”

All these questions…

“I don’t know... That you thought I’d write it down to an article as soon as I knew? Considering I’m a journalist, I guess it would've made sense…” I trail out.

He then pulls his brows together; his eyes never leaving mine. 

“You think I don’t trust you?” he sounds offended, baffled that I could think such, but am I to blame for that? Where is he even going with this?

“Yes. I can’t think of anything else.”

“Can’t you really?”

I’m provoked. “No. Maybe you would like to enlighten me, Mr. Hale?”

“I would very much like that, Mr. Stilinski.”

_Ugh..._

“Then please do,” I answer bitterly.

My desire is biting his nails, begging me to stop as I’m literally encouraging Derek to befriend me, and for real this time. My consciousness on the other hand is cheering me up to keep going with what I’m doing: a large foam finger on his hand, war stripes on his cheeks while blowing on a whistle.

Derek’s standoffish, and it annoys me more than it me pushes away.

Somehow, he seems to step back and let me win, but I don’t feel the victory and I’m surely not satisfied about it.

“That I can’t,” he answers softly.

I blink at him.

That’s it?

Now I crave to know.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t, Stiles,” his voice is clipped and severe.

I gulp, my heart pounding, staring deep into his eyes before I look down.

“I’ll make Chris collect you at seven. You can bring Lydia. I’d like to meet her.”

“She can’t,” I answer curt and sulky.

“...Why can't-“

“Because she _can’t_ , Derek,” I look him angrily in the eye before his dazzling smirk disarms me completely and I’m left speechless with my lips apart.

“That’s very childish of you, Mr. Stilinski.”

I look away, trying to hide a blush.

“Playing games with my head is very childish too, Mr. Hale.”

“Playing games you say?” his eyebrows rise before I grit my teeth and bite the bullet, meeting his pretty, hazel and misty irises again.

“Yes.”

He’s intrigued, his whole face is questioning and all I want is to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“What kind of… games, may I ask?”

“Oh… You know. Scrabble, puzzle… quiz and all the confusing ones?” I shrug absently. “Your persona is confusing, and it's contagious... You make me reconsider who or what I am as a human being.”

He looks at me warily, all his attention directed to me.

“Reconsider what, Stiles?”

I huff smugly. "That I can’t tell.”

“Stiles,” he warns me, his eyes hooded and darker than ever while I feel this rush of adrenalin through my veins.

I just want to embrace myself, feeling this bliss of satisfaction.

He takes a step forward, but to only make me take a step back in fear while excitement fills me, making my blood boil.

We pause looking at each other, and I feel like the chosen lamb to be the lion’s prey for tonight’s supper.

Luckily, Cora returns into my rescue and tosses more products down their cart.

“I-I should go,” I stutter. “I won’t need Chris to get me. I can drive-“

“No. Let _me_ collect you.”

“That’s not necessary.“

“I’ll get you,” he requests, taking no for an answer and I gulp in defeat.

“O-ok…” He looks dangerous and outraged. “Nice to meet you, Cora.”

“You too. See you tonight,” she smiles kindly, before it withers by the probably fright she can see on my face.

I nod to her before I look back at Derek and I hope he doesn’t notice I’m shaking.

“Seven pm,” he reminds me. I nod again. “I’ll see you shortly...” he says gloomy, before I notice a tiny tiny wicked twist on the corner of his lips. That bastard is smirking again.

_Heart failure._


End file.
